


This Frail Humanity

by eeyore9990



Series: Frail Humanity [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Derek becomes human, M/M, NOT a mating fic, NOT a soul bond fic, No death but it's very very close, Turning a trope on its head, post s3a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:30:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 55,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles throws himself in front of Cora, taking the hunter's bullet that was meant for her, there is no time for any but the most desperate measures.</p>
<p>Saving Cora cost Derek his Alpha power.  Saving Stiles will cost much more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunters

**Author's Note:**

> I've read hundreds of Human!Derek AUs and probably as many Werewolf!Stiles AUs, but I've never read a Derek becomes human fic. 
> 
> So, y'know, I wrote one. 
> 
> This is yet another WIP that rushed off my fingers. I have about five one shots in different universes that I'm planning to write, but I couldn't get to those around thoughts of this, so. Yeah. Enjoy?

From the first crack of a rifle, it was chaos. There was no time to stop and regroup, there was only instinct pushing the pack to lunge, bite, twist and grab. Derek saw the battle in flashes of light followed by the booming sound of guns.

The hunters had come for the pack, and there would be no running this time. No hiding.

He heard Scott's deeper, Alpha growl, saw the blur of Isaac's claws swiping through the midsection of a hunter, smelled the sharp scent of bowels spilling onto the ground. And all around were the screams and shouts of humans, too many of them _theirs_ : the Argents, Lydia, Danny, the Sheriff. 

Derek's body obeyed his every command: muscles shifting and bunching, teeth rending, claws tearing. His blood sang with life, rushing through him and making him stronger, faster. He reveled in it, exulted in the power that flowed through him, even as he channeled it into taking out the enemy. His senses were alive, separating friend from foe in the fractions of seconds it took to decide whether to kill or protect. 

He spun, his shoulder sliding against Chris Argent's, providing a shield and the extra second Argent needed to get off a shot, taking down one large hunter. He spun again and came away claws bloody as a body dropped to the dead leaves, heart silencing between one breath and the next. He pulled Isaac from the path of one of Allison's loosed arrows and watched in triumph as it pierced the skull of the hunter at which she'd been aiming.

And so the battle raged on.

Derek swung around after snapping one hunter's neck to see another with his gun pointed dead on at Cora. Howling a warning, he charged across the forest floor, panic lending him extra strength, extra speed, barely slowing when a bullet tore a line of fiery pain across his shoulder _—but didn't penetrate, just a flesh wound._ He was almost there, teeth bared, clawed hands extended, when the hunter squeezed the trigger.

Derek was an instant, a heartbeat, too late. Derek threw the hunter into a tree, hearing the dull, hollow sound of his skull caving in, but not sparing the body a glance as he turned toward Cora, grief already pooling in his gut.

But instead of Cora's bloody, life-less corpse, he saw her kneeling on the ground, screaming into a pale, shocky face. Saw droplets of blood splatter across her lips when the body she was holding coughed. _Stiles._

Stiles, who had been running with the pack so long that it was almost second nature to turn in the midst of a fight to see him swinging wildly with a bat or tossing mountain ash around like it was sand in a playground.

Stiles, who should never have been here, who was supposed to be safe at home tonight. 

The noise of the dwindling fight was lost to the sound of Stiles' stuttering heartbeat, the ragged, choked-off, gurgling rush of blood filling his lungs as he tried to breathe through the sucking bullet wound in his chest. Shock sent Derek to his knees beside Stiles.

He'd seen Stiles face death so many times, Derek had begun to think him impervious to it, so as Stiles' body shook in Cora's arms, disbelief flooded Derek. Stiles couldn't die. It wasn't possible.

He was...Stiles.

Like a bubble popping, noise rushed in at Derek again, and he heard Cora screaming at Stiles not to die, heard her gently slapping Stiles and calling him an idiot for throwing himself between her and a bullet. Heard the Sheriff's chilling wails as he finally saw what Derek had, and knew that his son was dying.

Cora looked at Derek, her eyes at once fierce and pleading. "Help him! He...don't let him die. Please!"

Derek was already leaning forward, teeth bared to give Stiles the bite when the cold rush of reality swamped him. He wasn't an Alpha. He couldn't do anything to save Stiles. Not...now. Helplessness punched through him, stealing his breath and leaving him aching. The steady flow of his own blood through his veins was a bitter mockery of the red-tinged foam that spilled from Stiles' mouth with every breath his body struggled to take.

Wrecked, he looked up at Cora. "I...I can't turn him. I can't..."

Cora reached one hand toward him, frantically grabbed his arm and pulled so his hand was splayed out over the bare, dirty skin of Stiles' abdomen. "Like you saved me. You can..."

"Get Scott," Derek said, hands shaking as he pressed them to Stiles' skin. "I don't know if this will... If it. Just, get Scott." But even as he said it, he knew he was simply sending her away, protecting her from witnessing the death of this brave idiot. Because there was no time for Scott, no time for the bite to take effect. 

If this didn't work, Stiles would die here on the forest floor, one more soul to add to the list of those Derek hadn't been strong enough to save.

Derek pushed those thoughts down, drawing up the power and strength that flowed so freely through him. And then he concentrated, pushing everything he had at Stiles, willing everything in him into the human under his hands, hoping with the scraps of his faith that it would work. That it would be enough.

All around him, human hunters died, their frail bodies no match for the strength of his pack. Their wolfsbane bullets a puny defense against creatures nature had selected to be more powerful in every way.

Derek stared down into Stiles' eyes, watched as a tear overflowed his lashes and trailed down his temple to disappear into his hair, and he _prayed_. Prayed that his strength would be enough to save _this_ human. This _human_ who had saved him, annoyed him, bled with him.

_This human_ who had seen the danger and thrown himself in the path of a bullet to save Cora.

To save Derek's remaining family.

Derek pushed his will into Stiles and prayed until the world went dark around him.

~*~

There was no time to think, no room to push Cora out of the way. Stiles knew Derek wasn't going to get to the hunter in time. So he jumped, wrapping his arms around Cora in a wildly off-balanced hug, and felt the ripping agony of the bullet smash into his back and puncture his lung.

It was white hot, burning, the pain so intense his vision went grey and spotty. He could feel the blood rushing into his lung and coughed to clear it out, but it kept coming. And he knew.

He was dying.

Cora screamed, he was jostled, and when his vision cleared, all he could see were Cora and Derek and the darkness of the treetops over their heads, blocking out the night sky. Then Cora was moving and Derek was filling the space, his face wretched as he said something about Scott.

Stiles stared up at Derek, latching onto his familiar face even as the pain in his chest overwhelmed him. It was fucking horrible, like every panic attack he'd ever had was simply a preview of his death.

Because he couldn't breathe. Every time his body tried to fill his lungs with air, he felt like he was drowning, fire filled his chest all over again, and then he'd cough and _why couldn't he just fucking pass out already?_ Why was he still conscious?

Stiles wanted to escape the pain. He wanted the white light, the tunnel with his mom at the end of it. He wanted not to hear his dad screaming his name or see the twisted up panic on Derek's face. He wanted Scott to work some magic pain drain on him.

He wanted to close his eyes and stop fucking hurting.

He couldn't though because somewhere in him he knew if he did that he _would_ die. That closing his eyes would be surrendering. That if he blinked, it would be nothing but an eternity of darkness.

So he focused on the pain, concentrated on Derek's eyes, choked on his own blood. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye—a response to pain or fear or aching sadness, maybe all of the above and everything else. 

He wanted to tell Derek that it wasn't his fault, that none of it had been his fault.

Tell his dad he loved him, that he was sorry he hadn't been a better son.

He wanted to listen to the pack yell at him for coming out tonight. He wanted to tell them all how much they meant to him. But there was no breath for the tiniest word.

So he just watched Derek until, without even blinking, the world narrowed to a pinpoint of palest green and then faded into nothing.


	2. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are one of the beautiful people giving this fic a chance, let me tell you right now, most sincerely, how very much I adore and appreciate you.

Stiles opened his eyes and remembered dying. He spared a moment to be so fucking grateful for the sweet bliss of _waking up_ , and then turned his head, cataloguing every sight, sound, smell.

He was in a hospital room, the color scheme horribly reminiscent of the room his mom had died in. The IV he was hooked to pumped room temperature liquid into his arm, making him ache where the line fed into his vein. Squinting, he saw the half-empty bag was just saline, and he relaxed slightly.

Turning his head the other way, he let out a soft, mournful sound as he caught sight of his dad asleep in the visitor's chair, face etched with lines that had been added since the last time Stiles had seen him. Stiles closed his eyes, trying to forget the broken sound of his father's voice when Stiles had lay dying on the forest floor.

With his eyes closed, he focused inward, trying to determine if he felt different. He knew they must have given him the bite, since he was here at the hospital instead of already mouldering in six feet of earth. But that didn't make sense, because when he thought about it, he could feel the hazy, medicine-clouded pain in his upper back where the hunter's bullet had ripped through him.

Maybe he hadn't been here as long as it seemed? Maybe his body was still adjusting to being turned?

Stiles huffed and opened his eyes again, gaze skating past his dad to search for the rest of the pack. For Scott or Isaac.

For Derek, whose face had been the last Stiles had seen before the darkness had swallowed him.

But it was Melissa McCall who came rushing through the doorway, her hair pulled back, nurse's scrubs still starched-looking. She must not have been on shift for very long. 

"Hey, kiddo," she whispered in deference to his sleeping father, reaching out and smoothing a hand over Stiles' hair. "Saw you waking up on the monitors. How are you feeling?"

Stiles pushed his questions down, letting her do her job. "Uh, I can tell it's going to hurt like a bitch when the pain meds wear off?" His voice was hoarse and scratchy sounding, surprising him.

Melissa nodded and grabbed his chart off the end of his bed, making a series of notations on it. "I paged your doctor before I came in, so she should be here soon, but..." She hooked his chart back over the end of his bed, shot a quick look at his dad, and wrapped her hands around the raised rails of his bed. "Dammit, Stiles! What the hell were you thinking?! You could have died. You almost did die! Do you have any idea..." Her harsh whispers faded into silence, and she brought a shaky hand up to cover her mouth. "I know you boys have been doing this for a long time, but Stiles. You can't... There are too many people who love you. Do you...?"

Stiles reached up, frowning at how weak his arm felt, and wrapped his hand over hers where it was gripping his bed. "Hey. Hey. I know it was stupid, you have every right to be mad at me—"

"You're damn right we do," his dad's croaky voice cut in, and when Stiles looked at him, he felt the warm sting of tears fill his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, hating that he'd put that look on his dad's face. Because his dad looked...he looked like a parent who'd seen their only child die right in front of them. His weathered face was filled with a fear Stiles had wanted to protect his dad from at all costs, even as he flung himself into danger over and over again. "I'm sorry."

Melissa sandwiched his hand between hers, squeezing him gently before she nodded and backed away, leaving Stiles and his dad alone for a minute.

"Dad," Stiles started, then didn't know what else to say.

"I thought I'd lost you," his dad said, his voice gruff with emotion. "You were drowning in your own goddamn blood and I thought..." He dragged a shaky hand down his face, but his eyes never left Stiles. "I thought I was gonna have to bury you beside Claudia."

Cheeks already wet with tears, Stiles' face crumpled at that and he reached blindly for his dad. "I'm sorry!" he gasped again, not knowing what else to say. 

John leaned over Stiles' bed, one hand curling under Stiles' neck as he brought their foreheads together. "Don't ever do anything so stupid again, you little idiot," he said, his tears adding to the mess on Stiles' cheeks. "I can't lose you too."

"Okay," Stiles choked out. "Okay." But even as he said it, he remembered the hunter pointing his gun at Cora and knew: he'd make the same choice again, in a heartbeat. Not just for Cora, but any of his pack. He'd die for them.

A polite cough drew them apart, but not before John's fingers squeezed the back of Stiles' neck reassuringly. A gray-haired woman in a lab coat stood in the doorway, a stiff-looking smile on her face as she glanced between John and Stiles.

Stiles wiped at his cheeks with his hand and flashed her a crooked grin. "You must be my doctor?"

She came fully into the room, picking up his chart as she spoke. "Yes. I'm Doctor Meiers. Nurse McCall told me you've been awake for about ten minutes now?" At Stiles' nod, she quirked her lips in a quick, perfunctory smile and said, "Good. What do you remember of your injuries?"

Stiles' eyes widened and he looked at his dad for help even as he delayed with a drawn-out, "Uhhh, I was at the Preserve..."

"Hunters," John said, his voice smoothly professional.

Stiles blanched, about to deny his dad's words, when John cut him off with a tiny shake of his head.

"Poachers, really," he muttered, shoving a hand in his hair. "Must have thought Stiles was a deer or something, didn't even _check_ before they were shooting at him."

"Well, you're very lucky, Mr Stilinski." Stiles automatically looked at his dad before realizing Dr Meiers was talking to _him_. "The surgery to remove the bullet from your back was textbook perfect. Your friend didn't fare quite as well—"

"Friend?" Stiles asked, a hollow sort of ringing sound filling his ears as he looked to his dad, wondering which of the pack had been brought down. "What friend?!"

The alarms on all of his monitors started blaring then, which was when Stiles realized he was hyperventilating, two seconds away from a full panic attack. "Dad?"

"Ah, shit." John leveled a glare on Dr Meiers before he threaded his fingers through Stiles' and squeezed, breathing slow and even until Stiles began to echo him. Once Stiles was calm, John said, "He's still alive, son, but Derek...he's in ICU. Whatever happened to him has got him in real bad shape. He's not healing."

Stiles shook his head, because that wasn't possible. "But he was fine. He was fine, Dad. He was right there, he was holding me... _He was fine!_ " Left unsaid was the knowledge that as a werewolf, even a beta, Derek should have healed any paltry scratch.

"Was he...did he get shot too?" Stiles twisted his head, turning toward Dr Meiers to ask.

"No, we think something in the woods poisoned him. His body is trying to shut down. Apparently he carried you out of the Preserve, where he stumbled on the Sheriff, here."

"Hikers called in the shots," his dad said, meeting Stiles' gaze. 

"When Mr Hale collapsed, they brought him in as well," Meiers said, frowning down at her pager as it went off. Her jaw tightened and she looked back up at Stiles before glancing at the door. "I'd like to start dialing down the pain meds now that you're awake. We'll keep you for another two days for observation, but as long as there are no complications, you'll be out of here Wednesday morning after rounds."

Stiles nodded numbly, unable to really focus on what she was saying with the news about Derek still screaming through his mind.

"Okay," he said, then blinked at her. "Thank you."

She nodded abruptly and left the room.

John stepped toward the door and softly shut it. "I don't know what all happened," he said, coming back and sinking into the chair he'd been sleeping in earlier. "But Derek did...something? Cora said it was a power thing, that he'd done the same to her after she collapsed when you..." John looked down at his hands. "When you were trying to tell me about the pack." 

Stiles waved his hand, not able to dredge up even a hint of the old hurt that had lingered after that disastrously failed talk. 

"Whatever he did for her, he did for you. And it...worked. A bit, anyway. Pulled the bullet out of your lung, healed up your lung, the works."

"I didn't even question it," Stiles said, his voice sounding faraway to his own ears. "I just thought...I thought Scott bit me or something. But Dr Meiers said it'll be Wednesday in two days. So today's Monday..."

"You've been out of it for three days. Melissa says the doctors are suspicious of two otherwise healthy young men being in a near coma state for so long with no injuries to account for it. They thought drugs were involved and ran a tox screen."

Stiles struggled to raise his bed so he could at least sit up. "Drugs? But I was shot!"

"Yeah, but the wound they saw was a paltry one. And it didn't explain the presence of blood and tissue in your lungs. There are a lot of questions about this that we just don't have good answers for. Thankfully you have a whole medical history for them to look at." John shot a meaningful look at Stiles, whose jaw dropped.

"Oh shit, Derek."

"Yeah."

Stiles glanced at the door, making sure it was securely closed. "You said they did a tox screen on _both_ of us. Was Melissa able to grab his blood before they saw it?"

"No, and...that's the other thing we need to talk about. Derek's blood work came back normal."

Letting out a relieved breath, Stiles started to smile when he saw the worry on his dad's face. "Wait. What aren't you telling me?"

"With Derek's...background...his blood work should have raised all kinds of alarms. And it didn't."

"What does that _mean_? Did anyone ask Deaton?" Stiles asked, thoughts caught on the doctor's words about Derek's body shutting down. "What's wrong with Derek, Dad?"

John dragged a weary hand down his face and sat down heavily on the chair. "I don't know, son. No one does."

~*~

When he finally swam up through the blackness, Derek panicked. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't breathe. His whole body felt weak and every part of him _ached_ in a way that was completely alien to him. Not even having a pole shoved through his chest had felt like this.

He struggled weakly, and then panicked all over again because even at his worst he'd never known this numb feeling in his limbs. He felt like he'd collapse if he tried to move, and his head spun, even though he knew it hadn't moved on the pillow that cushioned it.

Focusing, he willed his eyes to open, and felt a tiny rush of elation when his eyelids fluttered, the light finally breaching them and shooting sparks of pain deep into his brain.

"Derek? Derek, can you hear me?"

He struggled harder because while he recognized Cora's voice, it sounded wrong. Muffled, and too quiet. _Strange._

As if realizing one sound was wrong opened the floodgates, he became aware that everything he heard was wrong. Or simply wasn't there. 

Cora was talking to him, and he could hear her voice encouraging him to squeeze her hand, but he couldn't hear her heartbeat. Couldn't hear his _own_ heartbeat or the rush of blood through his veins.

He couldn't smell her either. Not the faintest trace. He could smell some things, an astringent scent which should be sharp to his senses but was instead dull and colorless. He could smell staleness and a metallic scent that was strong enough he felt he could taste it as well.

As soon as he thought about taste, he realized why he couldn't breathe. Something was blocking his throat, parting his lips. He tried to bite through it, but he couldn't summon the strength. 

He finally got his eyes all the way open only to see a nurse coming at him with a needle that she shot into a thin, plastic line, and darkness swamped him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to promise that eventually there will be puppies and kittens and rainbows with fluffy glitter ponies in this fic, but uh...there's a ton of things that have to be worked through before then, if such a thing is going to happen. Ugh, I'm a horrible person. 
> 
> Someone should rescue these poor characters from me.
> 
> Update schedule: At this time, I plan to update every Saturday and Wednesday until the fic is complete. This plan MAY get wonky around the holidays since I'll be visiting my brother in Japan (!!) but I will definitely attempt to stay on track.
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely kudos and comments. Y'all are awesome!


	3. Survivors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely thrilled with this chapter, but it's a necessary bit of transition. *sigh* Writing, how does it work??

Stiles stepped into Derek's room, eyes locked on the still, sleeping form under the blankets before he heard Cora say, "Hey."

His smile was small and tight as he walked toward her, a knot of fear dissolving in his chest as she stood and met him halfway, leaning into his automatic hug. "How is he?"

"His vitals are all stable now, and he's been waking up for longer and longer stretches, but they keep putting him back under because he starts.... I don't know. Panicking?"

Wincing, Stiles looked at the monitors, reading the latest blood pressure and oxygen numbers. And then he realized he had not the first clue if those numbers were high or low for werewolves. "What's been happening?"

Cora shrugged, looking more helpless than Stiles had ever seen her, even when it'd been _her_ lying unconscious on a hospital bed. "He opens his eyes, sometimes even talks a bit, and then his pulse just... Honestly, if it was you, I'd say you were having panic attacks."

"So big bad wolves can't freak out when they wake up in a strange place?"

Rolling her eyes, Cora just shrugged and changed the subject. "You're out, then?"

Stiles nodded and patted a sheaf of papers he'd folded and shoved into his back pocket. "Yeah, officially released about an hour ago, but had to wait on the physical therapist to give me some exercises to do to keep my muscles limber."

"You..." Cora looked up at him, and then away, focusing on Derek. "I know everyone's probably been yelling at you, and I do think you're an idiot for coming out without telling anyone, but. Thanks. I... Everything was so chaotic that night, I didn't even notice that hunter. I..." She let out a shaky breath and grabbed Stiles in a tight hug. "Thank you for saving my life. Again."

Stiles buried his face in her hair and squeezed back. "You don't have to thank me for that. Never, okay? I will always have your back, as long as I'm alive."

Cora's laugh was a bit watery. "You have a saving Hales thing, don't you?"

Pulling back, Stiles lightly punched her shoulder, grinning. "Hey, I've done my share of saving the rest of the pack too. It's not my fault you and Derek are such fail wolves."

"Oh, you did _not_...!"

Their laughter-tinged scuffling was broken up a few seconds later by a gruff, "Children."

Stiles' head snapped around so fast, he got a twinge in his neck. "Derek! You're awake!"

"Proving once again...that you're loud enough...to wake the dead," Derek said, face caught in an expression between a grimace and a smile. "Water?"

"Oh, shit, sure..." Stiles fumbled with a container of water, looking around for a clean cup before just sticking a quickly unwrapped straw down into the pitcher itself. Pressing the controls on the bed, he inclined Derek's head to a better angle before bringing the straw to his pale lips. "Slowly, okay?"

Derek nodded, but as soon as he swallowed the first sip, he jerked his head away, face twisting up in pain. "Throat...hurts."

"He was intubated," Cora said when Stiles' forehead wrinkled in confusion. "They...you weren't breathing on your own," Cora added quietly to Derek, coming up on the other side of the bed to lay her hand gently over his.

Derek stared at her for a long minute, his hand turning over under hers to intertwine their fingers. Feeling uncomfortable, Stiles started to back away before Derek turned his head, looked straight at Stiles and whispered, "Thank you. I wasn't...I was too late. You... Thank you for saving Cora."

Stiles held his hands up, shaking his head. "No thanks needed. Besides, you saved me right back."

"It worked then?"

"Whatever you did pulled the bullet almost all the way out, healing the backward track of the bullet, from my lung out. It, uh, made some things difficult to explain, because there was still some blood in my lungs, but dude. I would have died. And you, yeah. You saved my frail, human ass."

At those words, Derek's face went completely blank. "Speaking of frail, human asses..."

"Shit," Stiles whispered, and his own heart started racing in time to the beat of Derek's that pinged over the monitor. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth, rubbing his fingers back and forth over his lips. "Are you...?"

Derek looked away, fixing his gaze on the muted television flickering on the wall, and visibly struggled to draw deep, calming breaths. "Unless there's been a very prolonged lunar eclipse, I think it's safe to say I'm fully human."

~*~

Derek's room was crowded two hours before he was supposed to be released. He shifted restlessly on the uncomfortable bed, gritting his teeth at the pain that flared all along his back. "The apartment will be fine," he muttered, then rolled his eyes when Stiles squawked.

"Dude, no, that doesn't even make any sense! You need someone to look after you, for a few days, at least." Scott's voice held a hint of power, but instead of making him want to bow his head in submission, it flowed around Derek without touching him. 

"Hello?" Cora said, sarcasm heavy in her tone. "Am I just chopped liver? I live with him. I'll know instantly if his heart starts..."

Derek pushed his head back into the thin pillow, staring at the ceiling as he tuned his sister out—which was uncomfortably easy to do. He wouldn't change a thing—Stiles was pack, and he was alive, as was Cora—but it fucking _hurt_ , the reminder of how very... _reduced_ he was. How _human_.

Chris Argent cut through the din with a pointed cough. "If you go back to your apartment, you'll be killed. And it's very likely Cora will as well."

The room went so quiet a needle drop would have been deafening, even to Derek's muted ears. "Cora?"

Argent held his hands up, looking from face to face before he turned back to Derek, his voice soft, but firm. "As far as I know, there are no other hunter groups who are aware that Cora survived the fire eight years ago, but there's no reason for them _not_ to be able to find out. She's been living under her real name since she came back to town, and the Hales have always been at the top of any hunter's list. And Derek," Argent's eyes narrowed with intent, "just because some blood work from a small town hospital shows you have human blood doesn't mean anyone's going to buy it. They're going to assume what anyone would. That your Alpha, Scott McCall, got his mother, who is a nurse working in this hospital, to switch out the samples."

Argent leaned forward on his chair, his hands fisted together between his splayed thighs. "You're in just as much danger, you're just as much of a target, as you ever were. But now it's even more dangerous because you _are_ human. Or at least, you exhibit all the characteristics of a human."

Derek's gaze skittered over to where Deaton was standing, still and quiet in the corner. Hope spread though him, causing his heart to beat almost painfully in his chest. "What does that mean? Exhibit the characteristics?"

Shaking his head, Deaton said, "Derek, the amount of power you expended should have killed you. I know being human is difficult for you, but please stop grabbing onto hope where there is none."

Derek closed his eyes as disappointment flooded him, his ears straining against the uncomfortable silence before he heard shoes squeak against the floor.

"Oh bullshit."

Derek's eyes popped back open, and he looked at Stiles in confusion.

"Stiles!" The Sheriff frowned at his son and Stiles shook his head, cheeks going a splotchy red as he glared at Deaton. 

"No, really, that's such bullshit. Did you even take a basic biology course, or did you photoshop your veterinary license? Because let me tell you, I think you don't have a goddamn clue." Stiles' gaze flicked toward Derek before darting away again. "If he was Scott or Isaac, I might buy that. But he's not. Derek was _born_ a werewolf. It's imbedded in his DNA, for fuck's sake. That's like telling me if I close too many mountain ash circles, I'll turn into a girl. Or...or... _home erectus_. It's not possible. It is a _biological impossibility_ that he's changed species because of a little werewolf voodoo." 

Deaton sat patiently through Stiles' diatribe before saying quietly, "Much like a child born HIV positive, it is theoretically possible for a werewolf to be...cured, for lack of a better word, of the lycanthropy virus."

"Then why are the hunters killing them instead of curing them?!" Stiles' hands waved dangerously through the air, and he punched a finger at Argent. "Why aren't _they_ shooting them with vaccines instead of bullets?"

"Bullets are cheaper." Scott's soft, disappointed voice was a perfect counterpoint to Stiles' impassioned speech. "Right?" His eyes begged Argent to disagree, but Argent just shrugged.

"They tried, about sixty years ago, right after the polio cure. A scientist from a family of hunters tried to isolate the gene for lycanthropy."

Bile rose in the back of Derek's throat, and he stared in disbelief at Argent, who just stared back calmly.

"Jesus Christ," Stiles said, throwing his hands in the air and turning his back on the room as his shoulders rose and fell in deep breaths. 

Derek spared a moment to wonder at Stiles' new, hair-trigger temper. Ever since Derek had woken in this hospital, Stiles had been on edge and snappish with everyone but Cora and Derek.

The Sheriff's radio emitted a muted noise from where it was clipped to his shoulder, but he ignored it, looking between Derek and Argent. "What happened?"

"They came up with three different serums, each with more disastrous results. The first round of wolves got sick, probably due to the wolfsbane used as a base for the serum, but didn't become less dangerous. The second round went feral...and the first wolf they tested the third serum on broke free and killed the scientist. That pretty effectively ended the search for a cure." Chris shrugged, like the scientist hadn't been an Argent, and the raging werewolf a Hale.

Derek stared at him for another long minute before breaking the uncomfortable silence to say, "You forgot to add that she was pregnant, that wolf. And that the reason she went wild is because the serum caused her to lose the baby."

Stiles laughed then, a broken, ugly sound. "God, of fucking course. The Hatfields and McCoys have _nothing_ on the Hales and the Argents." He turned then and slammed out of the room. 

"I'll go after him," Scott said with a sigh. "And Derek, I know I can't expect you to just obey me now, but please. Let us help you. Go home with Stiles and the Sheriff. You're still pack, and we still need you."

Derek plucked at the thin blanket that wasn't doing enough to keep him warm. "Yeah, I'll... I will." He caught the easing of the stress lines around the Sheriff's mouth and realized the concern was very real. "But Cora..."

"Both of you," the Sheriff said, a small smile crooking the corner of his mouth. "We'll set her up in the guest room, and you and Stiles can bunk together until we get something better worked out."

Chris stood abruptly, closing the distance between himself and the Sheriff, putting his back to Derek and talking in a low voice. Derek could hear snatches of conversation about cameras and motion detectors, but he stopped straining to hear when Deaton approached him.

"I'd like you to swing by the clinic before you come here for your check ups with your doctor. If Stiles is right, it's best we find out your blood work is abnormal before the hospital does."

"Do you think he is?"

Deaton's lips turned up into a kind smile. "No. I really don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4: "Adjustments" will be up on Wednesday.


	4. Adjustments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the last time we'll see these issues in this fic, jsyk, but I didn't want to push everything into one chapter.
> 
> Enjoy?

Derek opened his eyes, swallowing against the churning in his gut as the Sheriff turned into the Stilinski's driveway, threw the car in park and cut the engine. 

"Isaac and Cora grabbed about a week's worth of stuff for each of you," Mr Stilinksi said, his voice smoothly professional in that _just passing along information_ way that cops seemed to perfect their first day on the job.

Derek hated that he was familiar enough with cops to know that tone.

Pushing those thoughts away, he nodded and said, again, "Thank you. I appreciate you taking us into your home like this—"

"Don't mention it." The Sheriff looked through the windshield at where Stiles stood beside Scott, who'd driven him home, making impatient gestures with his hands. "You saved my boy. You have a room at my house and a plate at my table as long as I live."

Derek tried and failed to squash the discomfort those words sent twisting through him. "Stiles saved Cora." He shrugged, reaching for the door handle. "It wasn't exactly a tough decision."

He ignored the weight of the stare he could feel drilling into his back as he opened the door and climbed out of the car. And then he just stopped and stared because he hadn't been this inundated with color since waking up, and it was... _dazzling_. 

He'd kept his eyes closed from the instant they'd wheeled him from his hospital room, the movement of first the wheelchair, and then the car making him feel a low level nausea that he had no instincts for controlling. So this was his first good look at a world not bathed in fluorescent hospital lighting. 

The grass in the Stilinski's yard, after a damp spring, was a vibrant shade of green, the sky a soft blue, and he had no idea what color the somewhat scraggly flowers were that lined the short walkway from the driveway to the front door. Derek knew that grass was green and the sky was blue because _everyone knew that_ , but he'd never truly _seen_ it before and it was such a shock to his senses that he could only stare at everything in awe. He stood there so long boggling at a wilted flower that Stiles was able to surprise him, appearing seemingly by magic at his side.

Derek sighed heavily. He was going to have to become accustomed to not hearing heartbeats and the soft tread of footsteps.

"Hey, dude, you okay?"

"Yeah, just..." He considered for a brief moment asking Stiles what color the flowers were before he remembered all the dog jokes Stiles already made and decided he'd get himself a jumbo pack of crayons instead and teach himself. Clearing his throat, he waved at the house and said, "Considering the novelty of entering through the front door."

Stiles snorted and shoved him gently in his shoulder, startling a hiss from Derek as the low level pain there turned sharp and biting. "Shit! Sorry, dude, forgot about the stitches there." Stiles' hands fluttered around Derek's arm, his eyes dark with sorrow and mouth curved down sharply. 

Derek rolled his eyes and shoved Stiles back. "Stop. Pretty sure you're the one who's been telling me for years now how _not_ delicate humans are. And it's not like you have a lot of experience with me not healing, so..."

"Yeah, I guess. At least it healed enough before all the shit went down to not be obviously a bullet graze, huh?"

"Didn't stop them from giving me a tetanus shot, though," Derek grumbled, just as Scott approached.

"Hey, man, you need help?"

Derek shook his head, pushing away from the car and starting to take a step when the world seemed to tilt just slightly off center, making him sway dizzily.

"Derek!" Stiles was suddenly right there, sliding up under his good arm and bracing him. "What...you okay?"

Breathing deeply, Derek grit his teeth and gave a sharp shake of his head. "It's my ears. I can't...my balance is all fucked up. It feels like they're full of water or something, but I know they're not and..." He turned and slammed his fist into the side of the car, sending sharp jolts of pain lancing up his arm. He hated this weakness. "Just give me a minute." Planting his hands on the warm hood, he dropped his head and _breathed_ until he didn't feel like he was going to be swept up in a tide of rage.

Stiles said something, his voice too low and miserable for Derek to hear him.

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're like this, that you're human. I'm sorry you can't go back and make another choice."

Derek turned and stared at Stiles, dumbfounded. "You...? No. Stiles, there _was_ no other option—"

"You could have let me die." The completely matter of fact way Stiles said that stole Derek's breath and brought the rage back.

"No," he said. "That was never an option." Turning, he glared down at the sidewalk, _daring it_ to waver as he stomped somewhat shakily up to the house, brushing past Scott. "And fuck you for thinking it might be."

~*~

"What the hell, dude?" Scott asked, his voice sounding _hurt_. "How can you possibly think anyone, even Derek, would make that kind of choice?"

"Fuck you too, Scott," drifted to them from where Derek was struggling up the steps to the porch, more than a week in a hospital bed obviously playing hell with his stamina.

Stiles scowled at his shoe, drawing his foot back and kicking at the tire of his dad's car. No hard, because he wasn't stupid, but enough to feel vaguely satisfying. "I was trying to apologize, asshole!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"If everyone would stop scandalizing the neighbors by shouting profanities at each other on the front lawn," his dad said from the doorway, "that'd be great."

"Ugh, okay, I've got to get home." Scott turned toward his bike, then said, "Try not to kill each other."

Stiles groaned into his hands before striding toward the house. Every damn part of this day was pissing him off. When he stepped into the entryway, he saw Derek sitting on the stairs, breathing heavily from the exertion of walking from the car into the house and glaring at him. 

"If you ever fucking apologize for being alive again, I'll kill you myself."

"That'll teach me," Stiles snarked, then rolled his eyes. "And I wasn't apologizing for being alive, oh my _god_ , I was apologizing for being the reason you lost your," he flailed, "y'know. _Gift._ "

"Wow, Stilinski," Cora said, appearing at the doorway to the kitchen. "Way to make that a thousand times worse."

"What," Stiles huffed, throwing his hands in the air, impatience and guilt clawing through him in equal measure. "What did I do now?"

"Only implied that you're sorry you saved me."

Stiles gaped at her, stunned into speechlessness. For a minute. "No, that's not... Ugh! Just, can we end this conversation now?"

The rest of the day crawled by, with Stiles and Derek avoiding each other as much as they could in a three bedroom house. Mostly, Stiles stayed upstairs in his room, researching everything he could find about the werewolf cure Chris Argent had mentioned. He figured if they'd isolated the gene for lycanthropy, there might be a way to stimulate those genes and fix Derek. Heal him.

Turn him back into the badass wolf he'd literally been born to be.

Because it was Stiles' fault Derek was human now, and he knew, deep down in his soul, how he'd feel if he got turned into a werewolf. Not only had Derek's healing saved his life, it'd also saved him from becoming something he fervently did not want to be. But the cost had been Derek's last connection to his family, which...

Stiles drew a ragged breath and typed in another search string. 

When his dad called up the stairs that dinner was ready, Stiles had found a whole heaping pile of nothing, leaving him in even more of a foul mood than he'd been in after they got home. Watching Derek pick listlessly at his food did nothing to help his attitude.

Derek looked up, caught Stiles glowering at him, and flushed. "Sorry," he muttered, dropping his fork to his plate. "Just don't have any appetite yet, I guess. Mrs McCall said the pain killers and antibiotics they were keeping me on might have that side effect."

Stiles dropped his gaze to his plate, ears burning with an anger he had no real outlet for. And no place to aim it. 

"Or it could be that you don't have the hyped up metabolism of a werewolf anymore," Cora said, her tone ringing with false cheer even as all three men at the table froze, not daring to look at each other. She growled then, raising the fine hairs on the back of Stiles' neck. "Look, ignoring the issue isn't going to make it go away, and I'm tired of everyone tip toeing around it."

Stiles turned his glare from his plate to her. "No one has forgotten what happened, Cora. But excuse us for trying to not be assholes about it."

"No," Derek said, his voice quiet and...almost relaxed. "She's right. It's worse when we all pretend like nothing happened, because it did. And I'm..." He shrugged. "I have no idea how to deal with any of it because I've only been on the other side. I'm still trying to get use to it all, but it'd help if I..."

"If you what?" John had years of being Stiles' dad to build up the level of patience underscoring his words. "How can we help?"

"I don't know. I really don't!" Derek rubbed his forehead with one hand, staring at nothing. "Everything is about what I _can't_ do now, so..."

"Like what?"

"The normal things, obviously. Hearing, healing, strength. But also, like...how do I know if something's wrong with me? I appreciate you letting me use your laptop earlier, sir—" Stiles' eyebrows shot up and he looked at his dad, who was nodding along to Derek's words "—but I looked up how long it takes bruises to fade in humans and ended up on a page about leukemia!"

Stiles winced. "Oh, yeah, dude. Stay away from WebMD. It's _always_ cancer."

With a huff, Derek said, "Yeah, where were you two hours ago? I could have used that advice then."

"I was, uh, actually doing some research of my own. Looking to see if anything like this," he gestured between the two of them, "has ever happened before." Before anyone could ask, he lowered his head and said, "I didn't find anything, but you know how bad the sources are about actual, easy-to-access information."

Derek snorted. "About as easy as getting details out of Deaton."

"Yeah," Stiles said, grinning for the first time in...too long. "Yeah, something like that. But I'm not giving up. Still a lot of places I can look."

Cora cleared her throat and when Stiles looked over at her, it was to see a devious smile on her face. "So, when humans are turned, we generally do a lot of training with them, to help them settle into their new abilities."

Derek groaned, even as Stiles perked up, elation flooding through him. "Human training!" he crowed, throwing his arms in the air so hard his chair tipped over, sending him crashing to the floor.

Derek's laugh rang in his ears, and Stiles smiled. So the situation wasn't okay, not even close, but at least it wasn't completely broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 will be along sometime Saturday!


	5. Night Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, holiday madness caught me in its snare. Also, I ended up rewriting this entire chapter due to not loving it enough to publish the first version.
> 
> Happy holidays everyone!

Stiles knelt on the bathroom floor, automatically reaching for Derek's laces as Derek sat on the closed toilet lid, trying to catch his breath after climbing the stairs. The atmosphere between Stiles and Derek had eased considerably after dinner, for which Stiles found himself absurdly grateful.

"You boys need anything else?" his dad asked, hovering in the doorway.

Stiles looked up at Derek, eyebrows raised. When Derek shook his head, Stiles twisted around to throw his dad a smile. "I think we've got it, but if his heavy ass collapses in the shower, I'm totally calling you to come help. So, y'know, don't go too far."

John rolled his eyes and backed away, muttering about smart asses and foul mouths as he shut the door.

Grinning, Stiles raised his voice and called out, "I learned it all from you, old man!"

"Like hell," John said, voice muffled. "I blame it on Scott."

"You blame everything on Scott. Laaazy." The knot of Derek's laces finally came free and Stiles quickly untied and loosened them.

"Huh," Derek said, only slightly breathless.

Stiles looked up at him, tugging off Derek's left boot. "Huh, what?" he asked, attacking the double knotted bow of Derek's right boot.

"Nothing, really. Just...you and your dad." It sounded almost like a question and seemed to hang on the air expectantly.

"Well," Stiles popped off Derek's other boot and absently tugged his socks off while he thought about what to say. "For a long time after Scott turned, I was lying to Dad. Like, all the time. Which was hard on our relationship. Now that he knows, it's really helping us get back to where we were." 

Turning to the shower, he flipped on just the hot water nozzle to let it heat up. Derek watched him, questions in his eyes that looked too deep for Stiles to deal with right now. So, with a grin, Stiles stared meaningfully at Derek's jeans and said, "Need help with those?" He threw in a leer for good measure and laughed when Derek just rolled his eyes.

"No, I'm good. Get out, you perv, so I can take a shower."

Stiles left the bathroom, still chuckling, and ducked into the guest room. "Hey," he said to Cora, who was sitting sort of awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He threw himself down next to her and laughed when she nearly toppled off.

"Ugh, you're such an asshole," she said, reaching around and putting him in a headlock before rubbing her bony knuckles on top of his head. 

"Argh, hey, stoppit! Human here!"

Cora let him go, and they flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Stiles hid a smile, happy that she was finally relaxing. He elbowed her in the side, more a nudge than anything. "How are you holding up?"

She stiffened, then relaxed. "It's just been a really weird week. Everyone's alive, but...it's just weird."

"Yeah," Stiles said, sobering and pushing down the thrum of anger that had been beating in the back of his head since he'd woken. "I'm sorry. Not," he rushed to say, "that you're alive. I'm just sorry that Derek—"

A loud, agonized yell had them both bolting upright and rushing to the bathroom to see Derek in front of the shower, the curtain rucked up against his arm and a look of genuine surprise on his face

Adrenaline drained from Stiles, leaving him weak-kneed as his heart pounded irregularly. "What...what happened?"

"The water," Derek said hollowly, quickly dragging the shower curtain around himself. "I was going to adjust it and...I guess it scalded me. I wasn't expecting that. I'm, uh, sorry." His eyes flicked between Cora, Stiles, and, belatedly arriving to the hallway party, Stiles' dad before he looked down, color blooming along his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. "Sorry," he muttered again.

Stiles slumped against the doorframe, one hand going to cover his heart as he willed it to return to a normal speed. "Are you hurt? Shit, I—" He straightened, stepping into the bathroom and grabbing for Derek's arm, where the water had left the skin a bright red. Jaw clenched, Stiles rubbed his thumb over the skin and said, "I should have checked. I turned it on straight hot and then just left." He made a fist with his free hand and pounded it against his forehead. "Stupid! I should have adjusted the water before   
I left—"

"Whoa." His dad's hand on his shoulder pulled Stiles back a step. "I'm pretty sure it isn't actually life or death, and Derek's managed to live his whole life being aware of things like indoor plumbing and how the water taps work."

"Well..." Cora's voice rang out mockingly. "I did hear he lived in an abandoned subway car for a while. Maybe he _did_ forget."

Stiles appreciated what they were trying to do, but he knew the truth. This was his fault. All of it.

The bright, burning pit of anger in him swelled as he stared down at the marks his stupidity had left on Derek's skin.

~*~

Chasing everyone out of the bathroom for the second time that night, Derek finally stepped into the shower, the temperature set slightly lower than he was used to, just to be safe. The entire day had been a study in human frailty, from his continued inability to battle the weakness lying in a hospital bed for a week had left in his muscles to a much reduced appetite to an intolerance for extreme temperatures.

He was grateful to be alive, of course, but he keenly felt the frustration of his reduced abilities.

And Stiles wasn't helping. He'd been on edge all day, since Derek had woken in the hospital, really. Initially, Derek had put his mood down to Stiles missing his meds for a few days, but... Derek rinsed the shampoo from his hair, shrugging it off. He was probably borrowing trouble, seeing issues where there were none. 

Stiles liked being reminded of his own weaknesses even less than Derek, and not only had he spent the better part of a week in the hospital, he was also still recovering from a gunshot wound and the surgery to remove the bullet from his back.

Derek shut off the water and climbed out of the tub, sinking onto the closed lid of the toilet to rest his leg muscles, which were twitching spasmodically. He ran a towel over himself, rubbing it against his head before standing and winding it around his waist. The mirror was only fogged around the edges, so he took a moment to look himself over, trying to see any physical changes. Even to his critical eye, there weren't many. 

His frame was still broad and muscular, though he'd have to get back into a workout routine quickly so as not to lose any muscle mass. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he'd noticed earlier while watching television with John that his vision wasn't as sharp now. Though the seeing in color thing did make television amazing on a whole new level.

Turning, he pressed at the skin around where the bullet had grazed him, wincing as the muscles near it complained. The healing skin was pink, and there didn't appear to be any inflammation, so he stopped prodding at it. 

He raised one hand to his cheek, feeling the scratchy itch of his stubble and shrugged. He'd shave in the morning, if he felt like it. Right now, he was feeling a bit too shaky to take a razor to skin that wouldn't heal.

Dressing quickly in sweats someone—probably Cora—had left on the counter, Derek hung up his towel and opened the door to see Stiles hovering in the hallway.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't...hear you." Derek rolled his eyes at himself. He was seriously going to have to get used to not depending on being able to hear people sneaking up on him or he'd die the first time a hunter appeared.

"No problem." Stiles shrugged. "Just thought I'd make sure you didn't need a hand."

"Nah, I'm good. Tired, though." As he said it, Derek realized how true that was. Suddenly he could feel himself nearly swaying in place as his eyes drooped. 

"Whoa, okay, let's get you to bed," Stiles said, jumping to shore Derek up on his left side. 

They staggered down the hallway and into Stiles' bedroom, where Derek fell face-first into the mattress before shuffling around to plop his head on a pillow. The sheets and blanket got rucked up beneath him, but he felt just lazy enough to let Stiles worry about it. Closing his eyes, he let the world spin around him as he felt his body go boneless, reaching for sleep.

But sleep wouldn't come. After Stiles freed the covers from beneath Derek and turned off the light, the darkness behind Derek's eyelids was too absolute. Wrenching them open seemed to take the last of his strength, but as soon as he did, panic sent his mind racing. He couldn't see anything except the eerie gradient of black shadows against darkest gray. 

It was nerve-wracking and made him tense up, which apparently transmitted his wakefulness to Stiles who whispered, "What's wrong?"

"I can't see."

"That's kind of the point of closing your eyes, dumbass," Stiles muttered, elbowing him. But he still got out of bed and wandered into the hallway, where he turned on the light. Leaving the bedroom door cracked, he let the light spill through into the room and Derek was finally able to relax again.

Almost before Stiles was fully under the sheets, Derek was asleep.

~*~

_The unassuming house stood in a dark row with its neighbors. A man stood watching it, taking note of the lights slowly going off from one window to the next. A cigarette dropped to the ground and he dug the cherry out with his heel before picking up the butt and tucking it into his pocket._

_It was the Sheriff's house, so they'd have to be careful._

_More careful than the hunters._

_He was about to leave when a dim light began to shine in the front window. A small, grim smile touched his lips and he pulled his phone out, sending off a quick text._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will not be up until NEXT Saturday (a week from now-ish). Want to give myself time to make it a good one because (obviously) shit is about to start going down.


	6. Baselines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

Derek woke feeling an odd combination of aching and safe. His entire body seemed to be one large sore spot with flare ups of deeper pain at the joints. But as soon as he was awake enough to realize where he was, the odd sense of safety made sense.

Sometime during the night, he had apparently worked his way under Stiles, who—judging by the way he was splayed out and lightly snoring even with the sun beaming directly in his face—was completely unaffected by Derek's lumpiness. Moving carefully, Derek tried to inch worm his way out from under Stiles, but when he was almost free, Stiles' entire body stiffened and a pained whimper escaped him even as his eyes began to flutter open.

It was kind of funny to watch, really. One lid would open, the eye rolling for a second before that eye would wink closed and the other would go through the same routine. Eventually, Stiles woke enough to coordinate both eyes and he squinted against the sunlight flooding the room.

"D'rek?"

"Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to wake you." Derek kept his voice at a whisper, not wanting to alert Cora to the fact that they were awake until they'd managed to untangle themselves from each other.

"Mmm, 's no problem. Jus'..." 

Derek watched, incredulous, as Stiles fell back asleep mid-sentence. But apparently, without Derek's bulk providing a lumpy surface, Stiles couldn't stay that way because before Derek could maneuver himself out of the bed, Stiles popped straight up, eyes wide. 

"I'm awake!" Then, arching his back with a pained grimace, Stiles hissed, "Oww, fuck!"

Trying to stretch the kinks from his joints and muscles, Derek raised an eyebrow and said, "What's wrong? Sleep funny?"

"No." Stiles hopped from the bed and eased his shirt off, turning to display the length of his back. "Did I pop the stitches?"

Derek had to take a moment to compose himself before he could answer. Stiles' back was a network of dark bruises framing a neatly stitched hole just to the left of his spine. Stepping closer, he studied the stitches before saying, "Doesn't look like it. But you did something to fuck your back up." He lifted one hand, tracing his finger lightly over the bruises that ran from the middle of Stiles' ribs in an arch up over his shoulders and down the other side.

"That's the price of natural grace," Stiles snarked, carefully pulling his shirt back on. "Tipping over in the chair last night," he added before Derek could ask. 

"How bad does it hurt?" Derek couldn't help it, he was at once fascinated by and horrified of the limitations of his new, human-slow healing factor. Stiles' injuries would prove a good baseline for him to judge by.

"I dunno. I mean, I'm used to it? I'll pop a couple of Motrin and take it easy for a few days. Oh, and uh. Sorry if I kept you awake last night. I have a hard time sleeping on my stomach." Stiles pulled a face, rubbing nervously at the back of his head with one hand.

Derek shrugged. "I don't even remember getting in bed, honestly. Just waking up this morning, so you couldn't have disturbed me too much." He left out the part where he'd unconsciously tunneled under Stiles for the comfort of pack weighing him down. He might not be a true werewolf anymore but habits of a lifetime were impossible to shake in just a few short days.

A knock at the door had them both startling and turning to see the Sheriff standing there in his uniform, a thermos in one hand. "I'm about to take off, but wanted to let you know Alan Deaton called me on my cell this morning. He wants you both to come in so he can get some baseline readings on you."

"Me too?" Stiles asked, surprise evident in his tone. "Why me?"

Derek could guess the answer to that one. "He probably wants to make sure you're not healing faster than normal. Werewolves don't make a habit of healing each other, much less humans. If nothing else, I'm sure he'll want to document everything we can remember."

"Huh, good luck with that. I pretty much remember 'ow, I've been shot' and then passing the hell out."

"Yeah, well, you're never doing that shit again, so you may as well let Deaton take some notes," John grumbled, staring hard at Stiles as if willing him to agree.

Holding up his hands, Stiles said, "Hey, it's not like I _planned_ to get shot."

Derek snorted and John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you never plan to do anything life threatening. It just _happens_ to you. I'd swear you were cursed. Anyway, I'm out of here. Call on the cell if you need me."

Hurrying toward his father, Stiles pulled him into a hug and admonished him to be safe. A curl of some unknown emotion unfurled in Derek's chest as he watched them. Maybe it was grief for his own lost relationship with his father or a genuine concern for the man who'd so readily opened his home to Derek and Cora. Either way, it caused him to take a moment to compose his expression before calling out his own goodbye.

"So." Stiles turned toward Derek with a mischievous grin after the sound of the front door closing downstairs reached them. "Coffee and donuts for breakfast? I hid a dozen Krispy Kremes in the pantry yesterday."

"Give it up, Stiles!" Cora called from downstairs, making Derek jump at the unexpected interruption. "He's not going to magically lose his six pack from one unhealthy breakfast!"

"Hey! Stop trying to destroy my dreams, dream destroyer!" Stiles yelled back.

Derek just rolled his eyes and pushed Stiles into the wall. It was kinda nice, actually, how normal some things could still be in a world that was suddenly so very alien.

~*~

Stiles watched, curious, as Derek paused at the clinic's counter, one hand opening and closing nervously as he reached for the barrier that would have stopped him cold just a week ago. When Derek was able to easily flip the countertop opening, Stiles found himself wondering why. Did the magic respond purely to power?

Scott, with a lot of effort and at great cost to his energy and power, could cross a mountain ash barrier. So maybe it had something to do with intent? Scott was as purely intentioned as a person could get, werewolf or no. Maybe it wasn't about Derek not being a werewolf anymore—Stiles still couldn't reconcile the idea of a totally human Derek—but about the fact that he'd given something of himself, selflessly, with pure intentions and...

And Stiles rolled his eyes at himself, impatience curling through him. It did no good to speculate; time would prove him right or wrong. 

Hurrying after Derek, who'd almost reached the clinic's exam room, Stiles rubbed his hands up and down his arms as a feeling like dread filled him. He didn't feel different, but the mere idea that being werewolf healed might have changed him at a fundamental level was unnerving. 

"Wha—" Stiles stumbled into Derek's back when he pulled up short just outside the door of the exam room. "Oh." A strange blonde woman was in there, talking to Deaton, who was running his hands carefully over the back of a teacup poodle.

Huh. Sometimes Stiles forgot the animals in the vet clinic were actual patients of Deaton. It was easy to slip into the mindset that the clinic was a front for magic and not an actual day to day business.

"I'll be with you in a minute, boys," Deaton said evenly, not even bothering to look at them. "Just wait in my office."

The poodle's owner looked at them curiously, her pale blue eyes lingering on Derek before flicking over Stiles dismissively. 

" _Evil_ ," Stiles coughed into his fist in an undertone as he turned toward Deaton's office.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him, expression flat.

"I'm serious!" Stiles hissed. "Did you see the way she looked at you?"

"...And? Aww, are you jealous?" Derek asked, lips curving into a mean-looking smirk. "I can see if she has a friend for you."

"Dude. No. She's like..." Stiles flailed, unable to adequately express the amount of nope he felt at the very idea.

Wrapping an arm around Stiles neck, Derek pulled him into a loose head-lock, which Stiles wriggled out of. "Out of your league?"

Stiles smoothed his hair down, pulling a face. " _Old._ And obviously evil."

"Not too old for me. And why are you so convinced she's evil?"

"In my experience, the women who look at you like that? Pure fucking evil." Stiles ignored the flash of discomfort he saw in Derek's eyes. Truth must hurt like a son of a bitch.

Hearing footsteps coming toward them, Stiles poked his head out of Deaton's office and said, "Have you ever considered getting a secretary? Or just, you know, a warm bodied person to make the whole 'veterinarian' front less of a front?"

Deaton brushed past him and offered Derek a small, commiserating smile. Which, not fair.

"Anything to report?" he asked, his voice that infuriating combination of condescension and calm. 

"Stiles thinks your client is evil because he's a giant misogynist," Derek offered with a shrug.

Deaton tilted his head toward Stiles, eyes narrowing. "I sincerely hope not."

"Me too. Derek can't afford another murdering girlfriend," Stiles said through clenched teeth. A small part of himself curled up in shame at the viciousness of his words, especially when the skin around Derek's eyes twitched in a small, almost invisible flinch.

But fuck. It was true. 

Struggling against the need to spew more thoughtless words, Stiles clenched his fists and said, "Dad said you wanted to run some tests on us?"

Deaton studied him, one of those long, considering looks that set Stiles on edge on the best of days. Just as Stiles was about to say something snotty, Deaton smiled agreeably and nodded. "Yes, I do. Thank you both for coming on such short notice."

Stiles crossed his arms and went to lean against the wall, ignoring the dull pain from his bruises as Deaton began to examine Derek. The stitched up bullet graze on his shoulder got a cursory glance, but apparently Deaton found the bruising in the crook of Derek's elbow—from where the hospital had set up his IV line—of unique interest.

"Does this hurt?" he asked, pressing a finger into the bruised skin.

Derek's muscles tightened. "Yeah, some. Nothing debilitating, but I'd rather you stop poking at it."

Removing his hand, Deaton murmured an apology before pulling a single-use syringe from his lab coat. He unwrapped it and reached for Derek's other arm. "I'd like a blood sample from you both for a baseline. I'd ask Melissa McCall to grab them, but I'm sure you agree that the less we ask of her, the better."

Stiles watched, overtaken with morbid fascination, as Deaton pierced Derek's vein with the needle and drew a syringe full of blood.

"How is your pain level otherwise?" 

Derek sighed. "I hurt? I mean, what am I supposed to compare it to? It's less than being tortured by Kate and more than sleeping on a subway train."

"Hey, I got that reference," Stiles muttered under his breath. "Can he have regular over the counter pain medication?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard. And then boggled over the fact that he could actually mutter in Derek's presence and get away with it now.

"I'd like to be careful with it. He should be monitored for any adverse reactions." Speaking directly to Derek, Deaton continued, "One of the things Melissa and I spoke about is doing a complete allergy panel on you. It would be...a shame to have you die from anaphylactic shock due to a seafood allergy, for instance, if we can avoid it. Also, she wants to have you brought up to date on your vaccinations. Open your mouth, please."

Stiles tilted his head, watching as Deaton pressed his thumbs into Derek's gumline. "What...?"

"I suspected as much. Your fangs are still there, you simply do not have the same ability to access them as you did before."

"Wait, what?" Stiles stepped forward, staring at Derek's mouth. "Seriously? What about his claws?"

Derek lifted his hand and slowly and deliberately raised his middle finger at Stiles. "Why don't you tell me?"

Slumping backward, Stiles enunciated, "Asshole," as Deaton came at him with a fresh needle.

~*~

_Stepping out of the hospital records room, she pulled the door shut behind her. At a brisk pace, she walked down the hall to the lounge, her hand dropping into her pocket for her phone._

_A quick text was sent entirely by touch while she studied the options available for purchase at the soda machine. The man sipping coffee at one of the small, round tables greeted her companionably, and she took a moment to reply before walking out, ice cold soda numbing her hand._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 will be posted Wednesday, and I should be back to a regular posting schedule from now on. (Regular being Wednesdays and Saturdays.)


	7. Unnatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't obvious, all the science-y/biological stuff in here is a product of my own mind and too many hours spent trying to reconcile shit we see being contradicted in canon.
> 
> So. Many. Hours.

"So, I have a question."

Stiles' voice breaking the quiet of the clinic drew Derek's gaze, and while Deaton didn't look away from the microscope he was staring into, his body language showed that he was at least paying attention.

"Yes?" Deaton finally asked after a long pause.

"Well, all the Alphas I've seen have turned into like, hulking wolf men monsters. But Laura turned into a regular wolf."

Derek flinched at the sound of his sister's name, old grief catching in his chest for a moment. If Stiles was a less curious person by nature, Derek would wonder if this wasn't another dig at him like the comment about his girlfriends. Only... it was a good question.

"My mom did too. Turned into a wolf, I mean." He closed his eyes, remembering how beautiful and deadly his mom had been in her most powerful form.

"But Peter didn't, so it's not a Hale thing or a born wolf thing. Is it because they were women?" 

Deaton chuckled, lifting his head finally to spear Stiles with a look. "Derek wasn't wrong about the misogyny, was he? No, Stiles. The difference between a true wolf Alpha form and the bastardized form you are more accustomed to is the method in which the Alpha attained their powers. Peter was a monster because he killed to become Alpha. So too did Deucalion and those who were a part of his Alpha pack, such as Ennis and Kali. Because Talia and Laura became Alpha by right of heredity rather than by murder, their power remained pure."

Derek nodded, unconsciously lending weight to Deaton's lecture. "It's also incredibly painful to fully transform to Alpha form if you've stolen the power."

"There is some debate over whether the pain is psychosomatic," Deaton murmured, going back to his study of Derek's blood. "Those who steal the Alpha power with no remorse seem almost unaffected, much like a psychopath is not subject to the burden of a conscience heavy with guilt. That was one of the reasons I was so hesitant to become your emissary, Derek. I had no way if knowing whether killing Peter would change the essence of the boy I remembered. Or whether the death of your pack had already accomplished that."

Derek looked down, shrugging. "I was never meant to be Alpha. I never wanted it, really, but I knew Peter had to be stopped and..." He looked at Stiles, wondering if he should say it. Oh well. "I didn't think Scott was able to kill Peter, 'cure' notwithstanding."

"Oh, well that's just fucking awesome," Stiles said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. Closing his eyes, he grimaced and added, "Not the Scott thing, i agree with you there. As much as it pissed me off at the time that you took that choice from him, I don't think he could have killed Peter. But the other thing. 'Only those with a conscience feel pain.' Fucking great. We're never getting rid of Peter now."

"Peter isn't an Alpha," Derek reminded him. "So it's a moot point."

"Uh... _yet_. I mean, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are still out there somewhere and while I wouldn't mind having Boyd's murderers wiped off the earth for good, don't think Peter isn't planning how to get their power for himself. I saw the way he looked at their whole 'Wonder Twin powers activate, form of a _holy shit, what the fuck is that_ ' schtick. He wants that for himself, and I don't know if either of you realize it or not, but they disappeared right about the same time we last saw Peter. If he's not currently hunting them, well... Let's just say I hope they got him before he got them. I know he's your uncle, but—" Stiles shrugged, looking slightly apologetic.

Derek waved off Stiles' words, thinking hard about what Stiles had said. He'd stopped considering Peter his uncle the moment he'd realized it had been Peter who'd killed Laura. To contemplate what Peter might do with the combined power of the Alpha twins was...chilling. 

"Speaking of power..." Deaton sat back, rubbing at the place where the microscope's viewing lens had pressed into the skin around his eye socket. "I can see nothing that would indicate you're anything other than fully human, Derek. And, in case it occurs to either of you, I would not suggest asking Scott to bite you. His saliva, when added to your blood, breaks it down and destroys it instead of changing it. That may be one of those processes unable to be duplicated in a laboratory setting, but I don't want you to risk it unless it becomes necessary."

Derek sighed, nodding. He couldn't say he hadn't thought of it, but it wasn't something he was in a rush to try. As weak and sore as he still felt, he could only imagine how badly that would go. Plus, his luck had never been the best.

"Where'd you get Scott's saliva?" Stiles asked, frowning and slowly straightening to his full height.

"I collected a few samples from him last night when he came in to work."

"And he just... _let you?_ "

Derek shivered, unconsciously crossing his arms as the atmosphere in the room changed, became charged with something...uncomfortable. He watched Stiles closely, saw the way his jaw clenched and unclenched as he ripped his phone from his pocket and stabbed at the screen.

"Yeah, Scott?" Stiles said into the phone, his eyes narrowed and cheeks flushed. "Get your ass to the clinic. Now."

~*~

Stiles paced across the floor, rubbing at his arms where it felt like ants made of pure _rage_ were racing under the surface. "Fucking idiot," he muttered, throwing a wrathful glance at where Deaton was sitting, microscope light turned off as he watched Stiles pace.

Derek had backed away from it all, seating himself on a stool in the corner and flicking his gaze between Stiles and Deaton. 

"Derek," Deaton said softly, and if Stiles wasn't so fucking _angry_ , he'd laugh at the way Derek nearly startled himself right off his stool.

"Uh, yeah?"

"How are you feeling?"

The look on Derek's face clearly told how stupid he found that question. "How am I _feeling_?"

The door of the office slamming open interrupted Derek and Stiles whirled to see Scott standing there, hair a mess and breathing as if he'd run the entire way. He probably _had_ in an effort to work up some sweat samples to drop in Deaton's lap or something... And anger roared through Stiles once more, pushing through his body and filling his head until it felt like the top of his skull would fly off from the pressure.

"What's...going...on?" Scott gasped, bending over to grab his knees.

Instead of answering him verbally, Stiles walked over and punched Scott in the side of his head, sending him reeling—from shock more than pain, no doubt. "You fucking _fucker_ ," Stiles screamed. "Why don't you ever fucking _listen_ to me?!"

Hand coming up to cradle his ear, Scott shot Stiles a hurt look before he said, "What? What are you talking about?"

"You just _gave him_ samples of your blood and saliva? What have I told you about that shit? Do you have any idea the things he could do to you with those samples?" Stiles' entire body began shaking, his voice shivering with it. He couldn't...couldn't...

"Stiles!" Derek was right in his face, hands grasping his shoulders as he shook him. "Breathe! Breathe through it. You have to...just breathe."

But this wasn't a panic attack. It wasn't anything like that. Stiles could breathe just fine, but it felt like fire should pour from him when he exhaled. Pushing Derek out of the way, he advanced on Scott. 

"Do you think I did all that research on emissaries and magic workers for _my_ fucking benefit?" Before Scott could gather himself enough to provide more than sputtering vowels as an answer, Stiles yelled, "No! I did it to protect you, and you do this?!" He nearly wrenched his shoulder, he gestured so violently at Deaton.

"Stiles..."

Rounding on Deaton, who'd dared to interrupt, Stiles hissed, "Shut the fuck up. I'll deal with you later."

"I don't," Derek raised his hands as Stiles whirled on him. "Hey, calm down. I just don't understand why you're so angry with Scott for doing something we _just got finished doing._ "

"I was here, the whole time. I watched him handle our samples and..." Stiles reached into his pocket, pulling out the needles, syringes, and cotton swabs Deaton had used on them. "I collected everything he discarded so I can destroy it. But _you_..." He spun toward Scott again, who was finally looking angry himself. "You couldn't fucking listen to me, not once, not even on something this important!"

"It's _Deaton_!" Scott yelled back, hands flailing.

"Yeah. It is! The same asshole that killed us to find a tree that only about five thousand people in this town know about! The same dude that was emissary to the Hale pack, who are all still living happily ever after...oh wait! No, they're not! They're all fucking dead, except Derek. And gosh, wasn't Deaton such a swell emissary for Derek, right? Always offering the very best advice, always giving out information before not having it killed people. You know, information like the fact that his _fucking sister_ was in town with the Alpha pack, and oh, by the way, here's their address?" Stiles sneered. "But sure, let's just trust Deaton. Let's ignore Stiles' very good advice that he spent weeks going sleepless to acquire. Yeah. Let's do that. Fuck you, Scott." Instead of draining from him with his vitriolic rant, the anger continued to grow, to push against him until Stiles felt like he was going to...

Spots appeared in his vision and he screamed, trying to find an outlet for his rage before it consumed him.

"This isn't natural," Deaton said, his voice oddly echoing. 

Before Stiles could lash out at Deaton, arms came around him, holding him tightly as his vision finished going gray.

~*~

_They sat around the table in a group, discussing plans, looking over the information that had been painstakingly gathered over the past week._

_"Of what use can they be to us now?"_

_"They're resistant to outside forces. If we proceed, we'll have to be prepared for casualties."_

_"On both sides of the conflict."_

_"Yes."_

_Steam wafted above a cup of light-colored tea and papers were shuffled again as more notes were made._

_"Are we ready?"_

_"No. Not...yet."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 8 on Saturday!


	8. Everything Has A Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much longer chapter this time. My shaving kink reared its ugly head...

Stiles sat up, holding his head and groaning. The bones in his face throbbed and pulsed as it felt like his skull was caving in. Blinking his eyes open, he looked up and saw that he was still at the clinic. Judging by the light that streamed through the window, not much time could have passed.

"What the fuck happened?" he muttered, wincing as the low sound of his own voice drove daggers through his brain. That was when he noticed the circle of mountain ash enclosing him. His heart tripped, then started beating double time. The clench of his lungs made it feel like he'd been shot all over again as his breathing turned into choked gasps. Panic thrummed in his veins, and he pulled his knees to his chest, clasping them tightly to his body as he stared in horror at the floor. 

"Am I...?" He couldn't finish the question, couldn't give voice to that fear, even as he gulped for breath.

"We don't know," Deaton said, his voice almost patronizingly soothing. He gestured vaguely to the ash circle and added, "Yet."

Curling his fingers against his palm, Stiles sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he reached his hand out. His arm shook with nerves as he unbent it enough to straighten one finger. When his finger approached the edge of the mountain ash circle, he closed his eyes and fell forward, a choked sound of relief bursting from him when no invisible wall blocked his way.

"Oh god, oh god, thank god," he mumbled, scurrying out of the circle as quickly as he could, getting a bit of ash on himself in the process. He brushed it from him, then rubbed the gritty texture of it between his fingers, reveling in the texture.

"After you passed out, Derek told us he was the one to break the barrier when you got here this morning, so it seemed like a good idea... I mean, no one really knows what we should expect for you." Scott was oddly hesitant, maintaining a distance from Stiles that was at once heartbreaking and deeply satisfying.

Stiles was still furious with the idiot.

Looking around the room, he saw Derek nearly huddled in on himself, his arms wrapped tightly around his body and his face looking oddly pale. He was staring at the mountain ash circle, but it almost felt as if he were avoiding looking at Stiles.

"So if I'm not a werewolf," Stiles said, and watched as Derek stiffened further, "what was that?"

"I believe it was a combination of factors. First and foremost is that you've been bottling up quite a load of rage. For a number of years, apparently." Deaton's voice scraped over Stiles' nerves, and he felt the pressure of the overwhelming anger begin to spark through him once more.

"Maybe," Stiles gritted out, sadly interrupting what appeared to be an actual, helpful bit of information sharing on Deaton's part, "someone _else_ could explain so we don't have a repeat of my little Hulk-smash episode?"

"Our first thought was that you were carrying Derek's wolf. It didn't really make a lot of sense, because it's not like Cora became an Alpha when he healed her," Scott said, plopping down on the stool Derek had been using earlier. "But then..."

Derek and Scott shared a long look that began to grate on Stiles' overstressed nerves. "But then _what_?!"

"Well, I mean, no offense to Derek, but he's been handling this whole situation really well. Surprisingly well."

"What Scott means is that my anger hasn't been an issue since I woke up." Derek's voice sounded lost, like a kid who'd just found out Santa wasn't real.

"Uh, wait, you've been angry," Stiles pointed out.

"I've been annoyed, and irritated. I haven't been—" Derek unclasped one hand long enough to wave it around, obviously searching for words. "My anger was such a part of me that it became my anchor. And it's gone. I...I didn't even notice."

"So, what? You think you transferred your anger to me?" Unable to help himself, Stiles looked to Deaton for confirmation.

"It's all purely academic speculation at this point," Deaton said, as if he felt the need for a disclaimer at this late date. "But, in theory, because Derek's power was controlled in part by his anger, the two facets might have merged in some way. So when he poured his power into you to heal you..."

"I pushed my anger on you, as well."

Stiles groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Fucking magic."

"There is always a price, Stiles. You know this," Deaton said almost gently.

"Yeah, and I get that. This is way better to deal with than the whole Nemeton debacle was, but. Shit." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "What did you do to control it?"

Derek's pained gaze met his for the first time. "I let the wolf out. When I shifted, I let my anger free."

"But I can't shift, so... What? Where does that leave me?"

Stiles looked around the room, a chill taking him when he realized that no one had a fucking clue.

~*~

Derek stared at himself in the mirror later that day, let the scent of the shaving gel fill his nostrils and fought down the panic that wanted to overwhelm him. He lifted the razor to his face, saw how badly his hand was shaking and, with a curse, threw the razor into the sink, where it made a loud clatter against the porcelain.

Thoughts chased themselves in an endless loop around his head, mocking his inability to stop them. Stepping back, he gripped the sink with his hands, tightening his fingers until his knuckles went white...and the sink took it. A week ago, that expenditure of effort would have either broken the sink or ripped it completely from the wall.

Derek sagged forward, all the breath leaving him in a rush as reality broke over him again. This was it. This was all he was ever going to be. His chin dropped to his chest, smearing the shaving gel.

"Derek?" 

He didn't even flinch. He hadn't known Stiles had opened the door, hadn't heard the minute squeak of the hinges or the footsteps on the floor or even the too rapid beat of Stiles' heart. He hadn't felt the change in the air of the room or smelled the scent of another person coming closer. Nothing. It was as if he was blind in every sense but sight.

The trembling returned to his hands as he reached into the sink, fumbling for the razor. He had to do this. Had to push through the odd welling of grief and find some balance, some sense of normalcy. Besides, if he didn't shave now, a razor wouldn't be equal to the task by morning.

"Hey, dude, let me—"

"It's real, isn't it?" he asked, finally meeting Stiles' gaze in the mirror. He didn't have to explain himself; he could see Stiles' understanding in the slackening of his features and the softening of his eyes.

"Yeah. I mean, in this life nothing is definite, but... Yeah. It's real."

When Derek drew a shaky breath and reached for the razor again, Stiles stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

"Let me. You'll end up with cuts all over your face if you shave now, and I'll be the first to tell you... That shit is _annoying_ when the hair starts growing back. I've got this, okay? You just hold still." Stiles plugged the sink and filled it with warm water, swishing the razor through it before lifting it to Derek's cheek. "Okay?"

Derek stared at Stiles, taking in the tiny imperfections in his face, the places where the skin was a touch shinier than others. Old shaving scars and marks from blemishes. But they spoke of an experience Derek couldn't draw on. Derek's skin had always healed. 

At Stiles' expectant look, he nodded, stepping back slightly to give Stiles room to maneuver. The first few drags of the razor over Derek's cheek was smooth enough to relax him, to let him know that for all of Stiles' baby facedness, he could handle using a razor on another person. He let his eyes fall halfway closed and looked at Stiles instead of the mirror.

With Stiles paying careful attention to what he was doing, Derek had time to really look at him. For all that they spent absurd amounts of time together, Stiles was rarely still long enough for Derek to have noticed the changes the last few years had made to him. 

Stiles' jaw was sharper, more defined, his cheekbones as well. His hands had always been large, his forearms filled with lean muscle under tanned skin and a dark dusting of hair, but now the rest of his body matched. His wide shoulders narrowed to a trim waist and his hips led down to long legs, lean but muscular.

"So," Stiles murmured, interrupting Derek's thoughts and drawing Derek's gaze to his lips. "You okay?"

Derek closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath before shrugging. When Stiles lowered the razor to rinse it, he said, "I don't know. I guess I was still holding out hope, even after I was able to break the mountain ash barrier this morning. But then the blood work, and you..." He trailed off to let Stiles get at the other side of his face. Moving only his lips, he said stiffly, "I never wanted to be human. My sisters, sometimes they'd talk about it. How great it would be to be _normal_ , but I never felt comfortable unless I was...me. A 'wolf in the Hale pack. And now that's gone."

Stiles let the razor dangle between his lax fingers as he studied Derek. "That's why you never tried to turn me. I always wondered. I mean..." He shook his head and pressed his fingers to Derek's chin, urging him to tilt it up. "I never wanted to be anything but human. That's what I am. _Who_ I am. But I wondered sometimes, why you never even tried."

Derek blinked, amazed once again at how quickly Stiles could cut to the heart of a matter with his blunt honesty. Because that was exactly it. Derek's entire identity had been shaken. And while he wouldn't change what he'd done, there was still a gnawing ache, an emptiness inside him. Even his anger had been stripped from him. Before, even with everything else gone to shit, he'd always been comfortable in his own skin. Now, that had been torn from him. He was left floundering in this body he didn't recognize.

Shaking himself mentally, he said, "You never would have forgiven me, and the bite is a gift. It should be seen that way, to aid in the transition from human to werewolf. At least, that's what Mom always said. But just because I never offered doesn't mean I thought less of you than the others. You would be an amazing wolf. You aren't—you understand how the world works, in ways Scott, for all his power, never will."

"I'm a cynic."

Derek fought Stiles' grip to look him in the eye. "You're a realist. If you hadn't been able to cross the mountain ash today, what would you have done?"

"Had a panic attack, probably. Hell, I almost did anyway. I _really_ don't want to be a werewolf." Stiles shrugged apologetically and went back to his task. "But after? Yeah, I dunno. Got on with life, I guess."

"You wouldn't have spent the rest of your life looking for a cure. You'd have dealt with the reality of your situation." Derek let his words hang on the air between them, rolling his upper lip over his teeth to let Stiles get at the bit of scruff under his nose.

When Stiles went to work on his jaw, Derek asked softly, "How are you dealing with the anger thing?"

"I have all new respect for your control. How the fuck you didn't kill us all is still a mystery to me."

"My true anger, what you're feeling, I think? It was never with any of you. Not really. I mean, sometimes you'd piss me off, yeah. But my real anger was with Kate. Gerard. The hunters. Peter for killing Kate, for not letting me be the one to end her. At Peter again, for killing Laura. At Peter for putting power over family. And, sometimes, at Scott. For putting the Argents ahead of the pack." 

Their eyes met then, and Derek saw understanding in Stiles' gaze. An understanding of the gnawing frustration at Scott's inability to see that sometimes, the worst of someone was all that could be expected. That some people needed to be destroyed.

In an obvious change of subject, Stiles asked, "How are you feeling physically? Still sore?" He gave the razor a last rinse before hanging it in a modified toothbrush holder and holding out a damp washcloth for Derek to use.

Concentrating on his body, Derek shrugged as he patted the washcloth over his face and neck. "It's better. No more joint pain, but I can still feel...I don't know. My head aches and my arm, of course."

"What about..." Stiles made vague gestures toward Derek's groin that had him rolling his eyes.

Slapping Stiles with the washcloth, he groaned and said, "Only you would ask about another guy's junk!"

"Hey! It's a legitimate question!"

The door popped open and Cora stood on the other side, her expression one of heavy judgement. "If you ladies are finished painting each other's toenails, maybe the rest of us can pee?"

"Jesus Christ," Derek muttered, flinging his hands in the air as he pushed past his wildly inappropriate sister and temporary, annoying roommate. "Do we _have_ to discuss bodily functions?"

"It's the bathroom, Princess," Cora yelled after him, pushing Stiles out behind him and slamming the door. "It's where bodily functions _happen_." Her muffled voice was still acerbic enough to make Derek wince.

Stiles, of course, wasn't smart enough to leave well enough alone. "Why do you hate women, Cora? All your insults were female-centric. Learn to love yourself. Embrace the power of your femininity!" Turning to Derek, he made shooing motions. "Run! We have like five seconds to get behind a locked door!"

"Fuck that," Derek muttered, just loud enough for Stiles to hear. "I'm hiding behind your dad. A locked door won't stop her. A loaded gun _might_."

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, Stiles stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Hey, Derek, y'know...just because everyone keeps telling you you're human-powered now, it doesn't mean you aren't still a 'wolf of the Hale pack. Or Beacon Hills pack, or whatever. I mean, it's about magic, and power, and whatever it is that makes you turn. Not who you are." Stiles ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "It's kinda like a car with a dead battery. It's still a car."

"Pretty sure I need more than a set of jumper cables to fix me," Derek scoffed, but he smiled anyway, oddly touched. Well, until Stiles opened his mouth again.

"I'm serious about the dick thing, though. Man, I don't know how you _dealt_ with this whole anger issue. I haven't had the urge to touch myself in a week! I'm afraid it's going to fall off from lack of—hey, where are you going?" Stiles called after Derek, who had gone in search of the Sheriff and his gun as soon as Stiles mentioned the word dick.

If nothing else, he could shoot Stiles again, put them all out of their misery.

~*~

_He tore through the woods, running fast and faster still, ignoring the branches that slashed at him. Because they were coming for him. He could hear them behind him, advancing on him, too close to outrun though he tried anyway._

_He was stupid. So stupid._

_Weighted ropes tangled around his ankles, tripping him, sending him crashing onto the dead leaves of the forest floor. Even knowing he was out of range, he cried out, his howl echoing eerily through the trees and dying away before it could reach his pack._

_They had him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 on Wednesday. Chapter 9 will deal more with The Shadow Group (trademark pending), so you'll finally start getting some questions answered.


	9. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lidil, who has given my bad guys a name.

A scuffling at the door had the small group turning to see three men carrying a wrapped, wriggling bundle between them. 

One of the women broke from the group and approached, crossing her arms and frowning. "What is this?"

"We had to advance the time table."

"We intercepted some communication from the Sheriff. He's concerned that the hunters are still around, looking for the remnants of the Hale pack."

Reaching for the canvas covering the body they were carrying, she jerked, the words sending a cool rush of worry through her. "Why does his search for the hunters concern _us_?"

"It doesn't. The people they're looking for aren't the issue. But he sent out a warning for the pack not to go out alone. This one," he said, grunting when the form in his arms twisted, "was alone when he got the text. I made the decision to grab him early rather than wait and have to face a group."

She nodded and flipped back the canvas. The flushed face that greeted her made her sigh. It wasn't the Alpha.

However, upon seeing her, the boy's eyes flared wide in recognition and he renewed his struggles.

Smiling softly, she pierced her fingertip with a straight pin pulled from her jacket lining and drew a bloody symbol on his forehead. "Sleep now."

His eyes fluttered closed.

~*~

"Hey, kiddo."

Stiles twisted around on his computer chair to see his dad leaning against his doorjamb, coffee mug held loosely in his hand. He must have been on his way down to the kitchen for a refill, regardless of the fact that it was almost dinnertime. It was always coffee o'clock at Casa Stilinski.

"Yo, daddio. 'Sup?" he asked, jerking his head in an invitation to enter.

"Just thought I'd get you up to date on the investigation into those assholes who shot you and see if you've got anything new for me." John eased himself down on Stiles' bed gingerly, perching right at the edge.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Relax, Dad. There's no current or even recent wet spot for you to worry about."

Wrinkling his nose, John shrugged. "I try not to judge, but son, there have been days I've wondered if you're testing the theory that it'll make you go blind. Plus, you know...Our guests."

"Wait. You think Derek's jerking it in my bed? Nah, Dad, I seriously doubt it. I mean, even if he can't go furry anymore, he's still got the instincts, you know? He wouldn't mark territory like that." Stiles tilted his head, considering that. "I actually don't think they mark territory that way anyway. I mean, I think the marks are like, claw marks? Slashing marks into trees and stuff. So." John's stunned look was enough to make Stiles stop talking abruptly. "What?"

"I...was talking about Cora. The beautiful young lady who is _your age_ and currently living just down the hall."

"Oh. Huh. It never even crossed my mind. But then, she's absolutely terrifying and I'm pretty sure, claws or no, Derek would rip my throat out for even _thinking_ sexual thoughts about his baby sister." Stiles blinked down at his hands, trying to imagine...nope. Not even his very active imagination was going there. Derek, though? All too easy to imagine, which was just depressing as fuck.

John cleared his throat, a slightly strangled noise escaping as he did. "I actually... You know what? Let's talk about murdering psychopaths. I would be much more comfortable with that conversation rather than revisiting the things my son might get up to in his bed with an older, objectively good looking man he might be slightly more than attracted to."

"Okay, stop right there. Yeah, Derek is hotter than the surface of the freaking sun, and if I were the kind of person who was able to completely ignore my own conscience and he was, y'know, even the tiniest bit interested, I'd jump his bones in a hot second. But..." Stiles swallowed, feeling his face twisting up in second-hand pain. "Dad, you have no idea the... His love life? Has been so fucking tragic. I mean. I don't want to just tell his story, because, well. That's up to him? But yeah. It would take someone way more evil than I could ever be to casually just sex him up. Because I do care about him. Way too much to ever hurt him like that."

The anger that flickered across John's face let Stiles know that, even without the whole story, the instincts that had made him such an awesome lawman were going into protective overdrive. Which, good. Derek deserved to have awesome people in his corner, looking out for him.

"Anyway," Stiles coughed into his fist, "investigation?"

John nodded and said, "We got most of them, which you knew, but I ran those we ID'd against known associates and picked up some new names. No idea if they're really involved, but I've sent their details to the rest of the pack—"

"Are we lucky enough to have pics this time?" Stiles asked, leaning forward to grab his phone from his desk. He tended to turn it off when he was home as a signal to the pack that he could be found there. Sort of a _straight to voicemail? Stiles must be home_ bat signal.

"Yeah, they're attached. I have better ones in the file, but since it's an official, on going investigation..."

"Yeah, yeah. Sheriff's Office, do not remove. I know," Stiles murmured, flicking through the photos attached to several texts. "No one looks familiar," he said with a heavy sigh, disappointed.

"So it's either really over, or just beginning." John's mouth curved down, his eyes getting a far away look.

"Another mystery, whoo. Must be another day ending in y here in good ol' Beacon Hills."

"I want the pack to stick together for now. Keep in contact at least once an hour with _someone_ , so we know as soon as possible if anything happens."

"Derek and Cora and I are hanging out here watching movies today, so we're covered. But I'll keep in touch with Scott and Mr Argent. And Dad?" When John looked up, eyes focusing again, Stiles said, "Don't forget that you're part of the pack too, okay? Keep in touch."

"Hey, it's my day off. I'm not on shift again 'til noon tomorrow, so you kids'll be putting up with your old man today. After I go empty the shelves at the grocery store. Figured I'd pick up a pizza on the way home so we don't have to cook tonight."

"Sounds good," Stiles said, then stood up, stretching the kinks from his back. "Okay, movie time," he called, raising his voice so Cora and Derek could hear him from their location in Cora's room.

"Hey, kid," his dad murmured, drawing Stiles' gaze.

"Yeah?"

"Just...you've never been casual a day in your life. So don't, uh, let my horrible timing put thoughts in your head. Or. If they did already? Don't think you aren't good enough. Because, you know, I might be biased, but I think you're pretty amazing."

And then John left because the one thing Stilinski men were not was comfortable with emotions.

As Stiles left his room, he groaned, seeing Cora leaning back against the wall opposite his doorway. "Oh god. Werewolf hearing."

"Yeah."

Throwing his hands in the air, Stiles said, "If you're gonna kill me, can we do it in the bathroom? Tile is way easier to clean blood off of than carpet."

Cora batted his hands away and grabbed him in a headlock. "Look, you little shit. I..." She let him go and cupped his face with her hands, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You're a good guy, under all that sarcastic spaz. No one ever protects Derek, they just assume he can protect himself. So. Thank you."

Swallowing down a flush of anger on Derek's behalf, Stiles shrugged off Cora's thanks and croaked, "Movie time."

~*~

Derek hugged a pillow to his chest. "I don't know," he said, turning to look at Stiles. "I mean, I guess I thought you'd pick Wolverine."

"Oh god," Stiles groaned. "I _told you_ I've never wanted to be a werewolf. Phoenix, man. That's where it's at."

Grinning, Derek elbowed Stiles in the side and said, "Yeah, sure. You just picked Phoenix because you want to have sex with Jean Grey."

" _Please._ If it was about sex appeal, I'd totally pick Wolverine. Or...hmm. Magneto. Oh! Or Mystique. Ha-cha-cha. Not only is she smoking hot, but she can turn into Wolverine for those nights when you're wanting to spice things up! Like, bonus round sexcapades, dude."

Shock kept Derek silent a moment too long, long enough for Stiles to turn to him with a frown.

"What?"

"Just...Wolverine? I mean. I didn't know you—"

"Dude, have you been living under a rock? First, pretty sure you don't have to be even a little gay to want to get all up in Hugh Jackman. Second, my obvious appreciation of beautiful people has never stopped at just the ladies."

Derek snorted and flipped onto his stomach, stacking his pillow under his head. "I meant the whole werewolf reference thing. Because yeah, you're not subtle about openly gawking at people."

"Shut the fuck up!" Stiles said, choking on laughter. "I don't _gawk_ ; I visually appreciate."

"Pretty sure Scott was able to get a whole Pringle in your mouth that one day when...god, what was his name?"

"Who?"

"That beta from Portland?"

"Oh yeah. I don't think I caught his name. I was too busy having my mind erased by the power of those dimples." Then Stiles punched the air over his head. "But see? Obvious appreciation of a werewolf!"

"I didn't say you don't appreciate the aesthetic. I just didn't think you'd ever, y'know..." Derek sketched a sloppy sign in the air before giving up. "Have sex with one. I mean, the danger to—"

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up, asshole. I'm not prejudiced against werewolves, I just don't wanna _be_ one. I enjoy my feeble humanity, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"Speaking of, uh. Sex. I...said some things at Deaton's and—"

"Stop." Derek stared at the side of Stiles' face from inches away, watching as he rolled to face Derek. "I know what it feels like. Carrying that...that anger. How it can just roll up and overwhelm you. So—"

"That doesn't make it okay." Stiles' voice dropped to a whisper. "I... It's not your fault, you know? And I don't know why, but it seems like I'm constantly rubbing it in your face, that evil people keep hurting you. And it's not okay for me to do that. You were a victim, more than anyone else, and it's not... I'm sorry."

Derek opened his mouth to reply when the house phone started ringing.

"It's probably for Dad," Stiles said, worry wrinkling his forehead even as the ringing was abruptly halted.

"Hey," Derek said, booping Stiles' nose and drawing him back to their conversation. "What happened with Kate and Jennifer was just me being led by my dick. It sucks that I got caught twice, but it's not like I haven't had plenty of great relationships—"

"Boys, get up!" John gave a courtesy knock before opening the door. "That was Scott. Isaac hasn't checked in all day. And he's not answering his phone, but his messages are being read."

~*~

She studied the lab reports, scanning the notes in the margins that translated the more technical terms, then rubbed at the space between her eyebrows where a headache was forming. "And we're absolutely certain of the accuracy of these reports?"

"The samples never left my sight. The pack's human members were unable to tamper with them. And then, of course, there are the scans. Those cannot be altered once taken."

A strand of hair caught against her cheek as she turned to look at the scans tacked carefully to the wall. "And they cannot be traced to you?"

"No. This town has a higher than normal transient population. No one even raised an eyebrow at the timing of my arrival. I think we're overestimating the intelligence of this pack. Or at least, the threat they pose to us."

She rubbed at her forehead again, shaking her head. "Don't underestimate them. Maybe everything that has happened has been blind luck. But keep in mind their raw strengths. A True Alpha, a banshee, and two 'wolves that survived the transformation from alpha to beta. A boy who can, at the very least, manipulate mountain ash. I've no idea if he's had additional training, but we should expect that. Two Argents and however many other hunters they've swayed to their new code. I also understand that one of the pack members was a kanima at one point."

"That's an old druid fable."

"The kanima?"

"A human who turns into a lizard who turns into a wolf?" There was an audible scoffing sound. "No. The biology doesn't work. Warm blooded mammal to cold blooded reptile to warm blooded mammal? Physically impossible for one form to sustain those changes without killing the host."

"It was confirmed," she murmured.

"Your source is flawed. Of course he'd—"

She turned and pinned her associate with a sharp gaze. "Are you suggesting he would, what? Exaggerate? A _kanima_ , of all things?" She raised her hand and traced her finger over a neat line of stitches on a glossy photo tacked beside a useless xray. "No. Alan Deaton would sooner say nothing than exaggerate the power that remains of the Hale pack. It's not his way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 10 Saturday.
> 
> Edit: There were some very weird coding issues that cropped up after I posted, so if it looks wonky...I'm trying to fix it.


	10. Emissaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's basically full speed ahead at this point.
> 
> Also, I really have no idea how druids work in TW 'verse. Like, how their magic works? So I have no idea if they can put 'wolves to sleep with a bloody rune and suggestions, but in my world they totally can. So. Just pretend I'm making this all up as I go along. Oh wait...

The entire extended pack, minus Isaac, gathered at the clinic. 

"What do we know?" the Sheriff asked, thumb smoothing over the clasp of his gun holster, as if it was a touch stone. 

Scott shook his head wordlessly, worry evident in his gaze even if Derek could no longer feel the residual effects of it. Lydia and Danny were on a computer, trying to trace Isaac's cell signal, and Stiles was pacing, arms wrapped tightly around himself. Chris and Allison Argent were with Cora, hunkered over a map, pointing and murmuring to each other while Deaton stood to the side, frowning down at a black flip phone.

"Has anyone tried tracking his scent?" Derek asked, looking around...and then realized with a pang that without Isaac the Hale pack now consisted of only two werewolves. Scott and Cora were the only ones left who could possibly track Isaac's scent and that sent a chill through Derek.

If they went out, if they were captured by whoever had taken Isaac—assuming he'd actually been taken and wasn't simply off somewhere with a dead phone battery—there would be no more pack. If there was no pack, the territory would be vulnerable to outside forces.

Taking a breath, Derek tried to release the stress of the thought before he spoke. "We need to keep Cora and Scott separate." When Stiles stuttered to a halt mid-pace, Derek met his eyes and said, "There are a few centuries-old treaties that depend on the presence of 'wolves in this territory. If something happens... We have to make sure that one of the 'wolves is protected at all times."

"And you want it to be Cora," Stiles said, his voice low and calm.

"I...yeah, of course I want my sister safe," he said, shrugging. "But more than that, without a Hale in Hale territory, it becomes—" 

"We've talked about this," Scott said, interrupting. "It's not anything new. Not anything for anyone to get upset over," he said pointedly to Stiles. "But Derek?"

"Yeah?" Derek wrapped his arms around himself, bracing for whatever Scott was about to say. His voice was soft, gentle, and that didn't bode well for whatever he was thinking.

"Could this be Peter? Could he be making a play for the pack, for the territory?" Scott looked mildly apologetic, but the strength of his voice didn't waver.

Stiles snorted. "When _isn't_ Peter making a play? I thought we'd decided to assume the worst when it came to him and plan accordingly."

Derek sighed and nodded. It no longer saddened or shamed him that Peter was looked upon with such distrust. He'd earned the suspicion a thousand times over since recovering from his coma. Since psychologically manipulating a teenaged girl into raising him from the dead. Since killing Laura.

"I think it's highly probable, but I also think we need to consider _every_ possibility. Hunters, other disgruntled enemies of the pack, some Omega looking to take over...hell, maybe Isaac fell down a fucking well. No matter what it is, none of us know. And it's the not knowing that's going to do the most damage. We can't afford to split up, but if we're going to find him, we have no other choice."

He wanted nothing more than to go outside, run through the streets until he picked up Isaac's scent, shift to beta form, let his strength and instincts guide him until he found the last remaining beta _he'd_ made. But...he couldn't. He no longer had that ability, and it was only just dawning on him how utterly useless he was otherwise.

Derek had never cultivated another strength. He had always disdained computers, preferring the solid feel of books and newspapers in his hands. He'd rather visit a library than Google, always had. He had no real ability with guns or bows. He could draw the string, but he'd be as likely to shoot himself as anyone else.

He might be useful with knives at close range, just letting muscle memory take over, but he no longer had his physical strength or speed to lend him the edge over any other knife- or claw-wielding enemy. He honestly didn't even know if he could make a mountain ash circle.

Derek was useless to his pack but for the minute amount of arcane knowledge he'd gleaned through the years...and most of that he'd learned from Deaton. So, really, what use was he? He couldn't help anyone like this.

As if thinking of him sparked the man to action, Deaton stepped forward, drawing attention to himself. "I don't think it was Peter. Or rather, I don't think it was _only_ Peter."

Holding up his phone, Deaton locked eyes with Scott before he said, quietly, "Marin contacted me two days ago."

A hushed silence fell before Stiles let out a strangled sound and _launched_ himself at Deaton.

~*~

"Isaac," she greeted warmly, walking into the room and hovering near the bed he was strapped to, the wolfsbane woven into every scrap of fabric from the ropes binding Isaac to the canvas that had been used to subdue him concentrated enough to subtly perfume the air.

"Miss Morrell." Isaac grimaced, shifting on the bed and tugging against his restraints. "I guess this means Deucalion has a new gang of Alphas ready to rain havoc down on Beacon Hills. You know, you'd think you people would have learned your lesson years ago—"

"I'm not here with Deucalion," Marin murmured, reaching up to smooth his curls from his forehead, only to still and drop her hand away when he flinched rather violently. "You have nothing to fear from me, Isaac."

"Oh, yeah, of course. The ropes are here for _my_ benefit. I mean, they're so soothing. They _definitely_ don't burn against my skin, or make me think of being trapped. I mean, you're so fucking trustworthy, right? You have only my best interests at heart."

Marin smiled down at him, enjoying his petulance. It had been so long since she'd worked closely with teenagers and...sometimes she missed their honest reactions. "I can't release you. You'll return to your pack and bring them to our doorstep before we're ready. You have to understand, Isaac, the work we're doing, what we're planning? It's incredibly important."

"Really? Why don't you tell me all about it? Give my pack time to get here and kill your ass."

"Do I look like a monologuing villian, Isaac?" Marin laughed, a low, controlled murmuring sound. 

"Yeah, y'know, now that you mention it? All you need is a black trench coat."

"Much as I hate to disappoint you, I do have some business to attend. But I wanted to make sure you're comfortable before I leave, so..." She touched the dried blood on his forehead, activating the magic once more. "Sleep, sweet wolf."

~*~

Stiles vaguely heard the shouts of the others, the crack of the phone dropping from Deaton's hand to the tiled floor, the harsh struggle for breath from Deaton himself. But it was too easy to ignore all of it, so easy. Satisfaction rolled through him, bouncing against the rage, mingling with it until it was one emotion even as he dug his fingers deeper into the flesh of Deaton's throat.

Hands grabbed him, but were easy to shrug off. Voices screamed, but they were no match for the way Deaton's eyes flared, the fear that sparked to life, the way the pupils narrowed as his throat convulsed under Stiles' hands.

Arms came around him, too strong, sliding down until he was forced to drop his own hands. Stiles bared his teeth, struggling and spitting animal sounds as he was dragged backward, away from Deaton who was sliding limply down the wall. Stiles' dad crouched in front of Deaton, speaking to him in a low, professional voice.

"Stiles, man." It was Scott's voice in his ear, trying to calm him. To soothe him. 

But there was no calming the violence of the anger that had sparked to sudden life inside him. There was no outlet for it. Stiles could only writhe in Scott's grip, shouts of rage ripped from his throat as he tried to wriggle down and out of Scott's hold.

"Scott!" Derek was there, saying something to Scott, something about hurting Stiles, but he didn't care, just gnashed his teeth and swung wildly in Scott's grasp.

"I can't..."

All outside sounds disappeared under the white noise in Stiles' head, although _white noise_ didn't seem like an apt descriptor. It was pulsing, and black and red and orange and it wanted _out_ , to fill the room and push against the doors and walls and windows until they bowed outward before exploding in a shower of glass and plaster and wood. Until shards cut through every living soul in the path of his rage.

"You betrayed us _again_ , you son of a bitch!" Stiles screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. 

His eyes felt hot, like they were burning, and even though he knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that struggling against the strength of an Alpha werewolf was pure idiocy, he continued to throw his entire body weight forward, wanting to peel the flesh from the bones of the man who posed a threat his pack.

Deaton stood, massaging his neck, and managed to rasp, "I...not betrayed. I didn't know. She didn't..." His voice gave out to shallow, dry coughs.

Derek stepped in front of Stiles, blocking his view of Deaton, and for the barest second he felt...calmer, less like his veins were filled with fire. Almost like a cool breeze was blowing through him. "Stiles, you have to stop." Derek's hands came up, framing Stiles' face, even as Scott's arms remained tight and unyielding around him. "Scott?"

"Stiles, your heart...it's racing so hard right now, I'm afraid it's going to burst or something. Dude, you have to calm down. I'll get to the bottom of this, I promise, but you have to—"

Stiles thrashed again, eyes locked on Derek's worried ones. "You don't understand," he said. "You don't...you never _believe_ , you never _listen_ —"

"I'm listening," Scott said, his voice very close to Stiles' ear. "I believe. But right now, I need you to go with Derek, okay? I _will_ find out what Deaton's been keeping from us. But I can't do that if I'm having to fight you at the same time. So, please. Go with Derek. Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack—"

"Okay," Stiles said, closing his eyes and willing himself to stop struggling. Stop fighting. When he opened them again, his muscles were still twitching spasmodically, but he was able to pry his fingers open from the fists they'd been clenched in. It almost hurt, straightening them, but he did it.

"You good?" Derek asked, his voice quiet, for Stiles only. 

"I...don't know." Stiles noticed that Derek was keeping his body right in front of Stiles, like a physical barrier.

"You want Cora to come with us, just in case?" 

"No." His answer was instinctive, reactionary, and he paused to find the words to explain himself. "I...she won't blindly trust Deaton. If he lies, or even tries to withhold any information, she'll know, she'll call him on it."

"Okay, then." Derek's head turned, breaking eye contact, and Stiles concentrated his entire effort on focusing on the fresh stubble on Derek's cheek. "Okay, she heard us. She's nodding. Chris looks like he wants to strangle Deaton too, so I think we're safe. Let's get out of here."

Stiles closed his eyes and turned, let Derek lead him through the swinging double doors. "I don't...why does this keep happening?" he asked, almost whining.

"I don't know. Deaton's magic rubbing you wrong? The fact that you've never trusted him? I mean, even when he helped us in the past, you always researched his information before trusting it. You've always, since the day I met you, been one of the most protective humans I know. You're an asshole, but when someone's _yours_..." Derek shrugged.

Stiles leaned forward, putting his head against Derek's shoulder, feeling a hollow ache forming at the base of his skull. Fuck, it was going to hurt in a minute.

"I think..." He sighed, rubbing his forehead back and forth. "I think I need an anchor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 11 on Wednesday. Enjoy your long weekend, US folks.
> 
> May the example set by Dr King resound in the hearts of Americans and give us all the same compassion for every person that he had, regardless of race, religion, sexuality, or any imaginary boundary we can throw between ourselves. May we all be dreamers.


	11. Anchors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter, but I had a plot crisis arise in that there was a huge logic fallacy in one of the details of...well, something that's coming up. I didn't want to post this until I fixed my issue with the plot in case I needed to use a part of this chapter to fix anything for THAT. Yeah. 
> 
> Thank goodness for friends who are willing to stay up past midnight to help you talk out your plot and are scientific enough to make it a thousand times better. Ro, you are my guardian angel. Seriously. Dry humping your brain over here.

Stiles sat cross legged on the floor, his knees pressed against Derek, who was mirroring his pose, his fingers wrapped around Stiles' wrists while they talked, monitoring Stiles' heart rate.

"What do you know about anchors?"

Lips parting to answer, Stiles stopped himself and considered the question. What _did_ he know? "It's a thing, an idea, a person that you hold onto mentally to center yourself. Something that helps you find your control."

"Well...okay, but it's more than that as well." Derek's eyes flicked toward the ceiling and Stiles studied him as he struggled to put the concept into words. 

Derek's face seemed different somehow than it had been before that night with the hunters. Softer, or less strained. Younger. And maybe it was just the fact that he'd shaved in the last week, but Stiles thought maybe it was also the absence of his anger. Derek smiled easier, talked more, was more patient—with himself as well as Stiles—and he just seemed _relaxed_.

It was a good look on him.

Stiles swallowed and shifted on the cold tiles, drawing Derek's attention back to him.

"The first thing you need to know, despite Scott, is that having a person as your anchor is a very bad idea." Derek's fingers tightened on Stiles' wrists, as if he could imprint that idea into Stiles' bones.

"Well, yeah. I mean, we covered that last year. When he turned Alpha and didn't have Allison anymore, it kinda played hell with his control. And even if I chose someone I thought would never leave me, I could be compromised if something happened to them." Stiles looked down and swallowed roughly, an idea forming, the very thought of which made his chest ache. "My dad could be shot, which would make it doubly bad for me, because I'd be dealing with that pain on top of my anchor becoming...unstable."

"Right," Derek's shoulders dropped, relaxing. "Your anchor needs to be fluid, able to bend with circumstances. So, if your anchor is something concrete, say...your dad's badge, the one you used to find your dad during the Nemeton disaster, then it needs to have an underlying meaning. So, justice or whatever. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, because again, the badge can be destroyed."

"Right."

Stiles filed this information away. It was probably more werewolf knowledge than Derek had ever shared in his entire reign as Alpha. "Okay, so how do I find an anchor?"

"Think about something that brings you comfort. Think of the sight of it, or the scent. Something that calms your soul. An idea that you draw strength from." Derek's thumbs swept over Stiles' pulse points, soothing and gentle.

"Comfort? That...dude, you took _comfort_ in your anger?" Stiles twisted his wrists, gently pulling one from Derek's hold to brace his hand on Derek's knee. Trying to _give_ comfort.

"I, uh..." Derek shuddered, eyes closing as his features twisted up in pain. "My anchor, before the fire, was our house. It sounds stupid, but that house was where the pack gathered. It was my childhood. A place I'd one day bring my family. It was the representation of my family, our pack. Everything. So I thought it was indestructible, as an anchor. Because the house wasn't really about brick and mortar, right? It was about the people it sheltered."

"But then it burned."

"More than that, Stiles. My family, my _pack_ was trapped in it. The beacon of comfort and love I'd drawn strength from all my life became the thing that destroyed my pack because they couldn't escape it."

Stiles' throat closed up, and he lowered his gaze, unable to bear the force of Derek's pain. "I know it's trite, I do, but man, I am so fucking sorry for everything that's happened to you."

"My anger became my anchor because it was a choice of embracing my rage or burning up with it. It was consuming me until I got a handle on it."

"That..." Stiles stared. "That's exactly what it feels like. Like it's fucking burning me up from the inside. Oh god." He leaned over, put his head on his knee, and just breathed for a minute. The headache that had been threatening, building in the back of his head, took that moment to press forward, wind around his brain and burrow into his eyes. He whimpered, squeezing them closed.

Derek's hand on the back of his neck was nice, solid. Even knowing it was impossible, it almost felt like he was leaching some of the pain away. The soothing grip locked him in the moment and let him know he wasn't alone. Which he'd _known_ , of course he had, but it had felt so isolating, having this thing inside him that he couldn't control, a thing no one else understood, that seemed to want to kill him, almost.

"I thought, you know, maybe it was your wolf," Stiles murmured, his voice catching at the end. Even talking was painful, the sound of his own voice stabbing into his brain.

"What?"

"The...the rage? I thought we were wrong, you know? I thought it was your wolf, trying to get out. But because I'm human it couldn't. So it was just going to claw at me from the inside until it killed me." He shuddered, pressing up into Derek's hand to feel it, just to solidify that connection.

"No. God, no, that's...it's nothing like the same. The wolf is completely different. I mean, I don't know." Derek huffed out a laugh. "I have no idea how to describe it. For the most part the wolf is just calm, sleeping? You...feel it, always, but it's more of a comfort than anything. The moon, though, makes the wolf restless. And it's like bees under your skin, but it's not malicious. Not like the anger. It just wants _out_ , wants to run and hunt and chase, but our secrecy is incredibly important. So you can't. And the more you can't just let go, just allow your skin to flip inside out, the worse it gets until it's like having an actual animal pacing inside you. But it's not angry. It's not that... _complex_. It's an animal."

Much as it hurt to do so, Stiles sat up during Derek's explanation, fascinated by the emotion that flowed easily across Derek's face as he spoke of something that had been a part of him for as long as he'd been alive. "Do you miss it?" he whispered, almost hoping Derek wouldn't hear him.

A corner of Derek's mouth tightened. "Yeah." He didn't elaborate, but he didn't need to. Everything he didn't say was laid bare in his voice.

"I'd give it back if I could." Before Derek could argue with him, Stiles held a hand up and said, "I can't tell you how fucking glad I am to be alive, so this isn't that, okay? But if I could undo just that? Pour just that little bit of power or magic or whatever back in you? I'd do it."

He squeezed Derek's knee. "I'd keep the anger, though. You've carried _that_ long enough."

And the really funny part was, as much as it hurt and as awful as it felt? He totally would.

~*~

Derek stared at Stiles, uncertain what to say to that, but the moment was broken when Scott found them.

"Hey—uh, am I interrupting?" Half twisting from his waist, Scott pointed over his shoulder like he was about to dart off and leave them alone again, which...

Derek rolled his eyes and squeezed Stiles' wrist once before letting him go and standing up. "We were discussing anchors. It's fine, though, as long as you don't upset Stiles."

"Yeah, no. Well," Scott scratched at the back of his neck and shrugged sheepishly. "Maybe? I mean," he turned to Stiles, who was leaning against the wall, his eyes closed as he pressed the heel of his hand to his temple. "I'd kinda like you guys to come back, if you think you can."

Stiles cracked his eyes open and pushed to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily until Derek grabbed him. Concerned, Derek slipped an arm around Stiles' waist, taking some of his weight. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, just...headache. Lack of sleep, extreme rage attack, and surprise emotional discussions don't mix well apparently." Stiles smiled wanly, then turned to Scott, though he didn't shrug off Derek's help. "What's up, Scotty boy?"

"So apparently Ms Morell texted Deaton two days ago. Short message, just letting him know she'd be in town. I mean, as far as we can tell, he didn't even answer her, and I had Danny check his phone traffic." 

"So what does that mean?" Derek asked, a chill of dread sweeping through him. "Did Deucalion rebuild his Alpha pack?"

Scott pushed a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Mr Argent is contacting some hunters he knows who were keeping tabs on Deucalion, but considering the time, it may be tomorrow before we hear anything back."

"Have Deaton send a message back," Stiles said, growing heavier with each passing second. 

"What...oh! Meet for dinner, talk about things..."

"Put a tracker on her car..."

"Follow her back!" 

Derek waited patiently through their Laurel and Hardy routine, knowing any interruption would be ignored, before he brought up something he'd thought of earlier. "Scott, I'm worried about the pack."

Scott and Stiles froze, their heads turning toward Derek with twin looks of muted horror. "What? Why?" Scott asked, then quickly added, "I mean, obviously, because of Isaac, and I'm really worried too—"

"That's part of it. Our pack is down to three werewolves, including Isaac. You know he's still alive, but if that changes, you'll lose even more power and we can't afford that." Derek's shrug almost knocked Stiles over, so he readjusted his grip, then grimaced when he felt how fatigued his muscles were becoming, which was just absurd. "Let's go somewhere that Stiles can sit down before he falls down."

"Yeah, that's...I'd like to talk to everyone at once, if you think you're up to it. Cora, by the way, said to tell you it's all good, whatever that means."

Derek felt Stiles stiffen against him before he shrugged. "Let's get this over with," Stiles said, his voice taking on a rough edge. "I really don't think I have another rage episode in me. But if I don't get some sleep soon, I'm going to pass out, so. Mush, Scotty."

While Scott loped off back to the room where everyone else was waiting, Stiles leaned in toward Derek and whispered, "Stay close?"

"I've got you," Derek murmured, and decided he really shouldn't feel such a rush of satisfaction at how Stiles relaxed against him. Stiles was barely managing to remain upright. _Derek_ had nothing to do with his sudden bonelessness. "Uh," he added sheepishly. "Not literally. If you can walk under your own power, that'd work a little better."

"Damn," Stiles practically slurred, a ridiculous grin curving his lips. "Never knew I'd miss you being all _'rwar, I'm the Alpha!'_ "

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"I could drop you." Derek knew the threat was empty before he even uttered it. Stiles did too, if the way he giggled drunkenly was any indicator.

"Dude," Stiles said, listing toward Derek as they approached the door. "Who'd have believed it two years ago, huh?"

"What's that?" Derek felt a bead of sweat break away and trail in a long drip down the side of his face. The arm he was bracing most of Stiles' weight on was starting to shake. _Ten more feet,_ he promised himself.

"That we'd be friends."

~*~

Marin glanced at her phone when it pinged an incoming message. Swiping her unlock design, she read the message, her lips curving up in a smile.

Turning to Isaac, she showed him the message.

 **Alan:** Have you arrived in town? I'd like to meet when you're settled.

"Looks like your friends are missing you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12 tentatively scheduled for Saturday still. I shouldn't have a problem getting it up (hur) on time, but I want to make chapter 13 solid before I make that promise. So.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, guys.


	12. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last half of this is a bit of a break from the stress, lol. Enjoy it.

When they stumbled through the swinging doors, the Sheriff leapt forward and grabbed Stiles, leaving Derek to slump against the wall. His arms and legs trembling from fatigue, he slid down the wall and sat on the floor, watching as the Sheriff got Stiles situated on a chair, speaking to him in a low voice. 

Cora caught his eye. Derek lifted a brow in question, prompting her to mouth, _you okay?_ at him. He smiled wanly, not an answer, but enough to make her crook up the corner of her lips and nod back.

He let the conversation roll over him, let the others make plans and set up meetings while he just _breathed_. All the talk about anchors came back to him and settled like a brick in his chest. A painful brick that stabbed into his heart and lungs, making breathing difficult and every pulse of blood through his body sting.

For so long he'd carried his anger; while it had been a burden, it had also shielded him from the worst of the pain of his grief. Now it was as if a floodgate had been opened in his mind, reminding him of those he'd lost. But where the pain was overwhelming, it was also dusty and old. A bitter regret, the stench of melancholy flooding his senses.

Derek pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around them and lowered his forehead to his knees. He vaguely heard the meeting wrapping up, heard the Sheriff outline their strategy for the next day. Lifting his head again was almost impossible, and his vision wavered. 

Cora stood over him, holding Stiles up. "Hey. You want me to come back for you?"

He spent so long thinking, considering his answer, that the Sheriff intervened. "I'll help Derek. I think he's a bit more ambulatory than Stiles right now." 

After everyone else filed out, after the final words of Scott's goodbyes had faded, the Sheriff squatted in front of Derek and said, "Son, it's time to go now." His voice was soft, and there was a patience in his eyes that reminded Derek that this was the man who'd raised Stiles and survived. 

With a tiny huff of amusement, Derek hauled himself to his feet and let the Sheriff catch him under one arm, bracing him. "Thanks," he mumbled, his body feeling almost numb. 

As they walked out of the clinic, Derek tilted his head back, taking in the brightness of the stars and the sliver of moon. "It's funny," he said. 

"What's that?"

"The moon is just another light in the sky now."

The drive back to the Stilinski's house was short and quiet, with Stiles snoring softly beside Derek in the back seat. Cora sat in the passenger seat, her gaze fixed on Derek through the lighted mirror in the visor. When they pulled into the driveway, Derek had regained enough strength to walk into the house under his own power, following along behind Cora, who was carrying Stiles over one shoulder.

"Hey, kid, need help up the stairs?" the Sheriff asked quietly. 

"No, I think...do you mind if I stay up for a bit?"

"You're a grown ass man, you can do whatever you want. If...well, I don't recommend making it a habit, but if you want a nightcap, there's some whiskey above the sink. It might help you settle enough to sleep."

Derek seriously considered it, then shook his head. "With my luck, I'd get completely drunk off a sip or two and wake up with a hangover. Thank you, though."

"All right. Don't stay up too late. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day."

Walking into the darkened living room, Derek winced as he rammed his knee against the edge of the coffee table and then half-fell onto the sofa. Settling back with a sigh, he cursed softly and rubbed at the sore spot. 

"Hey."

He jerked violently and turned to see Cora silhouetted against the dim light filtering through the windows. "Hey, yourself."

"You smell...sad."

Derek dropped his head back against the cushion and just nodded, knowing she could see him. He felt the couch dip beside him and her body curl against his. He lifted his arm, allowing her to snuggle under it, and then squeezed her even closer. "Just...missing them," he said. It was true enough without laying bare all the emotions roiling through him.

Cora's hair tickled his chin, and he felt the wetness of tears against his throat. "You never..." He heard her swallow, and thought how strange it was that even with their muffled senses, how humans could still read the physical aspects of emotion. 

"Always," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I always miss them. I'm sorry you didn't know that."

She pulled away, but his eyes had adjusted enough that he could see her wiping at her face with her hands. "It's easier to be angry. It hurts less."

"No. It just delays the pain." His lips quirked up. "Trust me."

Cora stood, walking silently from the room. After a minute, he said, softly, "I'm glad I still have you."

~*~

Stiles woke up in a puddle of drool, his entire body half-flopped over Derek's. "Oh, dude," he croaked, trying to wipe the drool up with a corner of the sheet. "That's...really gross. Sorry."

He looked up, expecting to find Derek glaring at him or something, but Derek's face was still slack with sleep, his eternal stubble having thickened into something closer to a beard again. 

"Aww. Sleepy puppy."

Stumbling out of bed, Stiles tip-toed from the room and pulled the door shut just as his dad emerged in his uniform. 

"Hey, kid," John whispered, his voice a deeper, sleepier rumble than normal. 

"Coffee?" Stiles said, widening his eyes and hopping up and down hopefully.

"The biggest, strongest pot we can make. You start that, I'll get the pancakes going."

They made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen without Stiles managing to knock any pictures off the walls. It was already a good day. 

When Stiles mentioned that with a happy lilt in his voice, his dad just snorted out a laugh and said, "Yeah, kid, any day not begun in mass destruction is a damn good day in Casa Stilinski. So." 

That last word had enough weight to it that Stiles turned from the pantry with his eyebrows raised. 

"Wanna tell me what that was all about last night? The whole..." John made exaggerated strangling motions with the box of pancake mix.

"Oh. Yeah." Stiles scratched at the back of his head. "So, uh. We don't really know for sure? I mean, I seem to have picked up Derek's entire lifetime's worth of rage? Either that or I got a dose of gamma radiation. This is Beacon Hills. Can't rule anything out."

"Shit, that would be funny if it weren't so damn true."

Stiles eyed the measuring spoon for the coffee grounds, then scoffed and just poured directly from the bag into the filter until it was full. After spilling half the water, he finally got the water reservoir full and then hit the on switch and began sweet talking the machine as thick black liquid began to dribble into the coffee pot. 

"Do we need to keep you away from Deaton today? I'm meeting him to set up the wire and get him a—"

"Whoa, wait. What? Wire? How did my life go from MTV to HBO in two short seconds? What's going on?"

"Ah, right. You were out of it. Well, Deaton set up a lunch meeting with his sister for 11:30 today. We figured that might give him time to get something incriminating out of her before I go on shift at noon. While they're at the restaurant, Chris Argent is going to put a tracker on her vehicle. If luck is on our side, we'll have that group behind bars and Isaac back home before sundown."

Stiles stared at him, dumbfounded. "Damn. That's a good plan."

"They don't call me the Sheriff for nothing, kid." John poked him in the chest with the spatula, squinting meaningfully.

"Pfft, you still don't have a horse. Until you have a horse, my faith in your abilities is hanging by a thread."

"Let it go, Stiles. At this point you're just beating a dead horse. Ba-dum-chhh!"

"Oh god, Dad, that was horrible."

"I thought it was great," Cora said, making Stiles jump, turning toward her with a hand over his suddenly racing heart before he cracked up laughing.

"Holy shit, your _hair_."

The long strands of her hair were a wild, tangled mess, half-hanging in her face.

She shrugged, hip-checking him out of the way and grabbing the first cup of coffee. "I can brush my hair, though. You'll still be a loser."

John choked on a laugh, then reached over to high-five Cora while Stiles pouted.

A heavy shuffle announced Derek's presence, and Stiles turned to see him standing there looking half-lost. "Hey, dude. Coffee?"

When Derek stared at him, lips moving like he was trying to figure out how words worked, Stiles took pity on him and poured a cup. Helping Derek wrap his fingers securely around the handle, Stiles blew gently on the steaming liquid before raising the cup to Derek's mouth. 

"You're gonna have to do this part on your own. Sorry."

"Hnnn." Derek's eyes slid closed and he tipped the mug, wincing slightly as the coffee hit his tongue.

"Yeah, I feel ya."

"Hey, kid," John said, then chuckled. "Err, the one biologically belonging to me. Get the plates down and set the table. We've got an hour before we need to be hitting the road."

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with only the occasional scratch of fork against plate ringing in the silence. Cora finished first, then darted up the stairs to take a quick shower while Stiles, Derek, and John relaxed with their coffee.

"Stiles tells me he got a little more with that whole power transfer than we thought," John finally said, looking to Derek with the same open expression Stiles had seen him wear while questioning witnesses.

"Uh." Derek looked at Stiles guiltily, then shrugged. "Yeah. I don't...well. It's not like I can't get—"

"Hey." John reached over, shook Derek gently by the shoulder. "It's still not your fault. I'm just wondering what this means, because the two of you have your follow up appointments today."

Derek hummed thoughtfully. "He should be fine? I really don't know, but so far he's only reacted like that around Deaton. So...? I think it's probably more important to have him go and get checked out than not. It's always best to have Stiles looked over by a medical professional," Derek added with a menacing show of teeth.

Stiles choked on his coffee and started coughing violently. With a final wheeze, he was able to say, "Ass." Then, to his dad, he grimaced and added, "I forgot all about our appointments. What time?"

"Yours is at 2:30, you're to go see the physical therapist first, then Dr Meiers' nurse to have your stitches checked. Derek's appointment is at 3:15 with Dr Meiers directly, though I wouldn't be surprised if they don't just have a nurse pulling your stitches," John said with a shrug. 

"Why does he get his stitches out first?" Stiles whined.

"Because my wound was a graze, dumbass. Yours was deep, and they'll want to make sure it healed properly inside before taking out the external stitches." Derek stared flatly over the rim of his coffee cup at Stiles. "I've only been human for a week and I know that much."

The rattling of the pipes in the walls alerted them that Cora was done with her shower. Standing up and grabbing his empty plate, Stiles took it to the sink and rinsed it off before sliding it into the dishwasher. "I don't know why we don't just get Deaton to take out the stitches. Freaking hospital will charge you an arm and a leg." He turned back to see Derek and his dad sharing a meaningful look. "What?"

"Derek needs to build up a medical profile. With his history being as blank as it is, it raises red flags."

"So it's important that I go to my appointments and make follow ups." Derek grabbed John's plate and carried them to Stiles, who took care of them while thinking about that.

"You probably need a dentist too, huh?"

"Yeah. Being human is expensive."

"What are you going to say when they ask about your fangs?" Stiles turned from the sink, flicking water on Derek.

"I have no idea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 on Wednesday! That will be plot heavy and we'll start getting into what The Shadow Group wants from the pack.


	13. Motive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The internet was conspiring to keep me from posting, I swear. First my internet, then AO3 went down, argh. Oh well. 
> 
> The action ramps up here. So, you know. Put your seats in their upright and locked positions? Heh.

When they pulled up to the station, Deaton was already there, leaning against the hood of his car. Stiles shifted in his seat, closing his eyes and feeling around inside himself for the rage that seemed to rise to the surface every time Deaton was near. Realizing he felt as calm as he ever did, Stiles popped open his door and slid out, still somewhat wary. 

"Ah, Stiles," Deaton said, smiling that irritatingly tranquil little smile of his. "I'm so glad you came."

"Yeah? Looking forward to getting your throat hugged by my hands again, eh?" Stiles shrugged at the dark look his dad slanted him. He was an asshole on the best of days. His father had lived with him long enough to know that by now.

"As amusing as that might be, I was hoping we might have a talk. A long overdue one, if I'm not mistaken." 

Stiles stared at Deaton, trying to read his intentions in the placid set of his features, and could find no clues. With a sigh, he said, "Yeah, fine, but it's probably best if we don't go out of sight of my dad. In case I..." He hooked his hands into claws and let out a half-way decent hiss.

"Ah. Perhaps that would be wise. You're deceptively strong." Deaton glanced back at the Jeep and said, "I can't help but notice that Derek isn't with you."

"He and Cora decided to go look around town to see if Cora could pick up Isaac's scent. Derek knows all the places Isaac might go if he's hurt or otherwise laying low. Places Scott might not know about or think to look."

Deaton blinked, surprise registering on his face before it smoothed out into his normal non-expression. "So you don't suspect Marin has him?" 

There was a hint of a hopeful lilt in Deaton's voice that Stiles ignored.

"We can't afford to put all our investigative eggs in one basket. If your sister has him, we'll follow her and find him. Hell, hopefully she'll be so dazzled by your lunch conversation that she'll spill the beans right there. But if she doesn't have him, we don't exactly have time to waste." Shooting Deaton a look, Stiles said, "Speaking of which..."

"You wish to know why I wanted to speak with you." Deaton let out a long breath, his gaze leaving Stiles to track somewhere over his left shoulder, but it didn't appear that he was looking _at_ anything in particular, merely taking a moment to study his words before he spoke again. "I...have heard every charge you've leveled against me. And from a certain perspective, you're very right. I was not able to help the Hale pack when they most needed me. After coming home and meeting with me, Laura died. I do not share information as freely as I could. Possibly as you feel I should."

"I feel like I should say 'duh' here," Stiles muttered, stepping back to give himself room in case this conversation veered into territory that would enrage him.

Deaton's lips quirked in a not-smile and his eyes met Stiles' again, his stare flat and rather cold. "There are so many things you do not understand, Stiles. So very many things. I am an emissary." 

As Deaton spoke those words, it was as if they welled up from deep within him and Stiles felt a prickle of _something_ rush over his skin. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself wondering, not for the first time, exactly how much was hidden in Deaton's depths.

"My position carries with it a responsibility to the natural order. I am a conduit, not a receptacle. I am not meant to be filled with power, but merely to ensure that power flows properly. When emissaries attempt to control power, to use it for their own means, it destroys their humanity. They become...well. You'll recall what happened with Julia."

"Miss Blake."

"However you wish to remember her. My point is that there have been emissaries who've sought to manipulate power. Marin is one of them. It is why we have grown apart. She is, like you, not content to let nature guide our paths. You, Stiles, are a seeker of knowledge. For a time, I watched you, considered whether to train you. But I eventually decided against it because, as much raw ability as you have, you would not be content to be an emissary. You cannot be a go between for the pack if you are yourself a part of the pack. And you could never hold yourself separate in the way that is required of us." Deaton paused then, his eyelids lowering in something slower than a blink.

"There's a difference between letting nature or destiny or whatever guide you and," Stiles waved his hands around, unable to think of a good word, " _cockblocking_ the pack when we need information that you have! You hoard your secrets, Deaton, and then try to put on a surprised face when people _die_ because we didn't know what you _already knew_. You can't pull this Dumbledore bullshit in real life, okay? Because it ends up in blood and death. And I am not willing to let my friends, my pack, die because of your 'I have to hold myself apart' bullshit. When did remaining separate actually benefit you or the people around you?"

If Deaton was unsettled by Stiles' rant, it didn't show in his expression. "It is the way it is meant to be; the way it has always been." 

"Oh my god, that's such bullshit. That's the number one most overused line in history to defend stupidity. Just because something has always been done one way doesn't make that way right!"

"Which is easy enough to say, with your entire eighteen years of life experience. Vast, indeed." Deaton glanced past Stiles at his dad, who was beginning to look impatient.

Stiles knew they'd wasted enough time already, but he couldn't help a parting shot. "I may be young, but doing things my way has already saved more of my pack than your way ever did." 

Spinning on his heel, he stomped back over to his dad, who was holding onto a body mic and recorder. "Tape it to his chest hair, if he has any."

~*~

Marin sat back in her chair, a smile playing around her lips as she watched Alan peruse the menu. "Are you really going to pretend that we're merely here for a meal?" she asked, allowing a hint of mockery to slide into her tone.

She did enjoy getting under his skin.

"I believe I'll have the chicken salad sandwich." Closing the menu gently, he placed it in front of him and folded his hands together on top of it. "If we're not here for a meal, why are we?" he asked.

"So casual. Very good, Alan. Very druid if you."

He pursed his lips and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "You say that as if it's an insult."

"Isn't it?" She delighted in the way his left eyelid twitched.

"If there is meant to be a message in your arrival in my territory, I'm afraid it quite escapes me. You'll have to try harder for clarity."

The waitress approached then, and after placing their orders, Marin leaned forward. "I wanted to offer you an opportunity to join me." Reaching across the table, she took his hand and said, "I know I irritate you. But Alan, this is so very important. The research we're doing—"

"What research? And who is we?"

Marin closed her eyes, organizing her thoughts. She had to explain this properly or she'd lose him. "When Mimi died," his hand automatically tightened around hers, almost a spasm, "nothing could have been done to prevent it. I know," she said, with a sad smile. "I tried."

"Marin, I know her death was hard on you, but she would have been the first to tell you that death comes for all living things." Alan's voice was soft, soothing, as if he were talking to one of his clients about their elderly cat. Marin snatched her hand back angrily.

"Of course it does. I'm not a fool, Alan. But death should come naturally, at the end of a long, healthy life. What happened to her was... It stole her _mind_. How much more would we know, how much better prepared for our paths would we have been, if Mimi's mind hadn't fallen to disease?"

"Is that...?" Alan sat back, aghast. "Is that what you're doing? Trying to eradicate human disease? Marin, you can't—"

"No! You don't understand, Alan, we're—" Marin cut herself off as the waitress approached to refill their drinks. "We're so close," she said, when they were finally alone again. "We could have a trial synthesized within the month."

Alan studied her, his eyes betraying his disgust. "It's true, then. You did take the Lahey boy."

~*~

There was a knock at the door of Chris Argent's van. Stiles slid it open to see his dad standing there, a legal-sized brown envelope in hand.

As John climbed into the van, he smiled. "Got it. Judge Parker signed off on the warrant twenty minutes ago."

Stiles flailed his hands to show his confusion. "Judge Parker what now?"

Chris held up a hand for silence as John slid the papers out of the envelope and handed them to Stiles. It was a warrant for Deaton's wire, the car tracer, and a surprisingly open ended search and seize on any and all properties visited by one Marin Morrell.

Keeping his voice low, Stiles looked at his dad and said, "This...you know this won't hold up against a good lawyer. They're going to rip it apart."

"Once we have Isaac back, we won't need that. His testimony will be enough to put her and any accomplices away. But if we don't find him, it's all just so much garbage anyway."

"Sheriff," Chris said, sitting back and holding out a headphone. "You need to listen to this."

~*~

At the hospital, Derek and Cora saw Stiles leaning up against his Jeep and went to join him, Derek with a frown on his face. "We're supposed to stay in groups. What if someone had—"

Stiles rolled his eyes, turned and waved sarcastically, and Derek watched as Chris Argent waved back before pulling away in a... 

"Looks like a serial killer's van, right?" Stiles murmured.

Cora sighed, elbowing Stiles gently in the side. "What's going on, loser? We didn't find anything."

And it was true. Even in places where Isaac's scent still lingered, Cora had found it to be old, layered over by fresher scents. Derek had taken Cora everywhere he could think to look, including the house Isaac had shared with his father. He'd even gone by Boyd's house, and they'd watched Boyd's younger siblings play in the yard while their mother looked on.

The Preserve had been one dead end after another. It was as if Isaac had just vanished from the town.

"Ms Morrell definitely has him. Or knows where he is. Mr Argent has the tracer going on her car. As soon as they know anything, my dad and his deputies are going to go in and hopefully find Isaac."

Derek looked at Stiles, unease flowing through him. "They're using humans? That seems dangerous. If she was able to take a werewolf, how are humans going to stop her?"

"Deaton's helping. Yeah, I know," Stiles said, when Cora made a shocked sound. "But you should have heard him. I mean, I only heard the recording, but it sounded like he cursed her or something. It's funny, though."

"What is?" Cora asked.

"What they're doing, it's not...evil. I mean. Shit, I don't know. They're trying to come up with a serum, something that will eliminate human diseases and aid in healing injuries. Basically make us have all the benefits of werewolves without the, y'know, furry bits." Stiles glanced toward the hospital, where a little girl was walking out, hand in hand with her father. "I don't know. I just wonder how bad that could be, I guess."

Derek looked at Cora, who stared back at him, her expression blank. The unease he felt increased. "If what they're doing is so great, why are they kidnapping 'wolves to accomplish their goals?"

Stiles sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "Yeah, good question. Well, we can't do anything else right now, so we might as well go get your stitches out and let the doctor poke me in the back."

When they walked into the hospital and signed in, Melissa McCall was on shift. Waving them over, she leaned in and said, "Stiles, your dad called me. He told me what's going on. Until they've found Isaac, he wants everyone to stay together. I guess he doesn't trust how easy this has all been."

"Yeah, I don't blame him," Stiles muttered. He was shifting restlessly, eyes darting around.

Derek moved closer to him, let their elbows brush, and hid a smile when Stiles instantly settled. "Everything doesn't have to be difficult," he said, then pressed more firmly against Stiles. "Besides, haven't you always said how great your dad is at his job?"

"Right, but...I dunno. Magic and shit. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I mean, they took Isaac and then nothing. No ransom note, no contact with the pack at all." Stiles sighed, then straightened and pasted a smile on his face. "Dr Meiers, how lovely to see you again."

"Mr Stilinski," the doctor said, lifting an eyebrow as she reached across the counter for some folders Melissa was handing her. "Please stop harassing my nurses and go to the waiting room until you're called. Mr Hale..." She flipped open his folder and jotted a note with a pen she pulled from a pocket of her coat. "My last appointment ended early. Since you're here, let's go ahead and pop those stitches out now so you can get on with the rest of your day."

"Well, I guess we know who your favorite is!" Stiles said, letting Cora drag him away.

Ignoring Stiles' theatrics, Dr Meiers turned to Derek and said, "If you'll follow me."

"Dr Meiers," Melissa said, her hand coming to the top of the counter. "I haven't taken his vitals yet."

"Don't worry about that, Nurse McCall. It won't take two minutes to pull his stitches. If you need them for his records, I'm sure Mr Hale will be happy to let you get his numbers when we're finished."

Melissa sat back with a nod. "I'll get Stiles started, then."

Dr Meiers just nodded, then gestured toward a darkened room. She led him in, hitting the lights and going to the sink to scrub her hands. When Derek shut the door behind him, she turned with a professional smile, pulling on a pair of purple gloves. "You can either take off your shirt, or roll up your sleeve, whichever is most comfortable for you."

Derek shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head. 

"Good. Okay, I'm going to give you a local anesthetic to numb the area before I begin."

Derek half-turned, frowning. "Why do I need—" 

The prick of the needle silenced him, and the doctor's smile widened. "Good boy. That should hold you for a minute. Now, let's see about those stitches, shall we?"

But Derek could barely hear her. Everything went fuzzy and he couldn't lift his hands to catch himself when his body slumped sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 14 on Saturday, as long as the internet cooperates.
> 
> Also, I have to know. Did ANYONE suspect the doctor?


	14. Traps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda in love with this chapter.

"Well," Melissa said, undoing the velcro with a loud rip and taking the blood pressure cuff off Stiles' arm, "your stats are basically the same as they were at your last check-up." She turned and typed a few things into her computer before frowning slightly. "BP's a little high, but that's to be expected after physical therapy."

"Physical _torture_ , you mean." Stiles groaned and rolled his head on his neck, trying to stretch his sore muscles.

"Well, we have to practice to perfect our art. I mean, you wouldn't want us to be known as second rate torturers, would you?" 

Stiles would never know why everyone thought Melissa was so sweet. The fact she could say things like that while grinning at him obviously made her... "Evil. You're pure evil."

"Don't you forget it, kiddo. Now, run yourself downstairs. I'll call ahead and let Dr Meiers know you're on your way."

He went for the door, then paused and looked back at her. "Hey, could you tell Derek I'll be down soon? I can't imagine my appointment will last long."

She stood and grabbed a clip board. "No problem. I'm sure he's with Cora, so I'll let them both know. You need me to give you a ride home after your appointment with Dr Meiers? That way those two don't have to wait if it does run long. I'll be getting off-shift in fifteen minutes anyway."

"Yeah," Stiles said, thinking about it. "Tell them not to bother getting anything out for dinner. I'll pick up some take-out, and we'll get the pack together to go over all the stuff that happened today. Derek'll be able to show off his cool scar and everything."

"All right, get going. Dr Meiers doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Opening the door, Stiles went left toward the elevators while Melissa turned right toward the nurse's station. As he waited, he heard Melissa's voice over the intercom telling Derek to pick up the nearest courtesy phone. The elevators arrived then, and he stepped in, hitting the button for the first floor. 

When the doors opened again, he was about to step out when a gurney was pushed in, forcing him to step back into the elevator or get run over. The gurney was holding a sheet-draped body, and he averted his eyes with a wince and a swift, sympathetic thought for the family of whoever the poor sap was under the sheet.

"Hold the doors open, please," a harried, familiar voice called.

"Oh hey, Doc. Sure thing." Stiles pressed and held the door open button until Dr Meiers was safely on the elevator and then he went to squeeze past the gurney.

"Thank you." Dr Meiers turned toward him with an exhausted smile. "I'll be right back to look you over. Just have to escort this patient downstairs first."

"No problem. I'll be in the waiting room with—"

Dr Meiers toward him, placing one hand on his shoulder even as he felt a prick in the other side of his neck. "Don't worry about waiting, Mr Stilinski."

Stiles felt flushed and weak all at once, and had just enough control to fall toward the gurney when his legs suddenly stopped holding him up. When he slumped against the gurney, it slammed into the elevator wall and the sheet slid off the body, showing Derek laying there.

Blackness swamped Stiles even as he struggled to find a way to get them both out of this nightmare.

~*~

Marin looked up as Sheriff Stilinski walked into the interrogation room.

"Miss Morrell," he said, his tone placid as he placed a folder on the table and slid into the seat across from her. "You've been read your rights, and you waived your right to an attorney. It is my duty to inform you that you can request one at any time during this interview. Anything you say from this point forward is being recorded and can be used as evidence against you in a court of law."

"Yes, I know," Marin said, crossing her feet beneath the table and getting comfortable.

"You're aware that we also obtained a warrant to record your conversation with your brother, Dr Alan Deaton, today. We've reviewed the recordings and are aware that you are complicit in the kidnapping of Isaac Lahey."

"Yes." Marin smoothed a hand over her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. "I am aware. I'm also aware that a hunter by the name of Chris Argent followed me to my motel by means of a GPS tracking device installed on my rental vehicle."

"For which we also had a warrant. And Mr Argent is an independent security consultant on retainer to the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department. What he does in his free time is between himself and the California Department of Fish and Game."

Marin leaned forward with a smile. She considered pushing the hunter issue, then decided to hold that in reserve. "My goodness, you're very efficient. I'm going to assume that the judge who signed the warrant was Judge Parker?"

"That is correct."

"Did they ever find Judge Parker's daughter?" Marin asked softly.

Sheriff Stilinski went perfectly still, his gaze hardening, going icy as he stared at her. "Are you confessing to being a party to the 2005 kidnapping of Cordelia Parker? Do you know her whereabouts or the location of her body?"

Marin spread her hands in front of her, shaking her head. "No. I was simply trying to understand how you were able to fast track a warrant for a wire _and_ a GPS tracking device in less than...what? Five business hours? It must be convenient to have a sympathetic judge in your pocket for times like these."

"There is nothing convenient about kidnapping, Miss Morrell. Although your apparent familiarity with the Parker case is interesting. Let's talk about that."

Marin shrugged. "It made national headlines due to his involvement in that...was it a mobster case, or a serial killer?"

"And you just happened to remember a case from eight years ago."

"I'm a psychologist. My training focused on helping young adults deal with childhood trauma. Her kidnapping was interesting on a professional level."

"And yet you're participating in events that would lead to the psychological trauma of Isaac Lahey, whose past is already filled with traumatic episodes."

"Yes, some would even call them life-altering." She stared at the Sheriff, disappointed when he didn't so much as flinch.

"The death of his only sibling, physical and emotional abuse by an alcoholic father—"

Marin sat forward, smiling sharply as she interrupted to add, "Taking the bite—"

"You suggested you were eager to cooperate with my department, Miss Morrell. If you have no information to offer, perhaps it's time to process you to the county correctional facility." A commotion outside the door made the Sheriff turn his head with a frown before he focused back to her. "Where is Isaac Lahey, Miss Morrell? Is he still alive?"

"He was in perfect health the last time I saw him," Marin said, just before a deputy opened the door, his face drawn and pale.

"Sheriff," the man said, "you need to come out here."

"I'm in the middle of—"

"Sir! ...Now. This can't wait."

"Fine," the Sheriff said, standing up. "Watch her."

The Deputy nodded, his eyes landed on her and didn't move except for the occasional blink. The Sheriff left then, and didn't bother closing the door, so Marin heard the loud, frantic conversation that followed.

"John!" It was a woman's voice. "Oh my God, John, they're gone."

"Slow down, Melissa. What's going on?"

"The boys, John," the first voice, Melissa, said. "Stiles and Derek. They were at the hospital, for their appointments. I saw them. But Derek went to get his stitches out and...I have no idea. I have _no idea_ what happened. But Stiles and Derek are gone."

"What?" The Sheriff's voice was a roar, animalistic with fury and pain. "Cora? What... Did you..."

A soft voice, sounding pained, responded, but Marin could only catch a few words.

"...couldn't...strong scent...found shirt. _Derek_."

A few seconds passed before the Sheriff pushed the door open so hard it slammed into the wall, rattling the window in its frame and making the privacy blinds slap in the violence of his entrance. He was shaking with rage and fear, his hand on his gun, fingers twitching on the grip of his revolver.

"You," he said, voice hoarse. "What have you done with my boy?"

Marin smiled kindly. "You know where I've been all day, Sheriff. My alibi is more than air tight. _I_ didn't touch Stiles."

"Tell me where my son is!" The deputy on the door leapt forward then, restraining the Sheriff from physically attacking her.

"I don't know." Marin stared at him, keeping her expression blank with just the slightest uptilt of her lips. "And if I did, I still wouldn't tell you."

She relaxed back in her seat, satisfied that she'd done her part well, ignoring her surroundings even as the Sheriff raged.

~*~

Stiles came awake all at once, and, surprisingly, remembered everything of the moments just before he blacked out. He lay there, keeping quiet, and listened to the room around him.

"Stiles?" the whisper of his name made him pop up, turning toward Isaac with a muffled shout. Isaac was tied down to a bed with ropes twisted up with wolfsbane. Mountain ash circled Isaac's bed. They weren't taking any chances.

Taking in the angry red welts that dotted Isaac's skin, Stiles was about to say something when the door opened and Dr Meiers walked in. 

Stiles had less than a heartbeat to make his plan, but he went for it anyway. He didn't have time _now_ to set anything in effect that could truly help them, but he could buy them some time...and possibly see exactly where Deaton's loyalties lay, once and for all.

Darting toward Isaac, he went for the mountain ash barrier, praying he didn't stumble and fuck this up, then flung himself dramatically backward when he 'hit' the barrier. Sitting up, he tried to dredge up the same horror he'd felt at Deaton's clinic, but he needn't have worried. Isaac's reaction was horrified enough for the both of them.

"What the hell, dude? What the hell? Oh my god, they said you weren't..."

Dr Meiers knelt next to Stiles, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What _are_ you, Stiles?"

Stiles blinked up at her, letting his eyes go wide and dredging up a few tears to wet them. "I don't... I'm _human_ ," he said, reaching toward her beseechingly. Then, as she leaned toward him, he lunged toward her. 

For the first time, he understood how the anger could have been Derek's anchor. When he let the rage that lay under the surface of his skin have free reign, without trying to hold it back, he felt... _powerful_. His body worked with him, turning graceful as the inferno roared through him.

He was a conduit for the rage, and there was nothing stopping it. No morals, no guilt. Stiles was fine with burning this woman to the ground.

His fingers wrapped around her throat, and he screamed in her face. "What have you done with Derek? Where are you holding him?" He felt the flesh give under his fingers and saw her eyes flare wide.

She reached up, gouging at his wrists, and lifting her bloody hand to him. Her lips moved, forming words without voice, and she touched him. It was like a wall punched him. His body lifted into the air, throwing him backward, knocking everything, his breath, his energy, his _rage_ clean out of him. He skidded across the floor and had just enough presence of mind to keep his limbs from crossing the mountain ash barrier erected around Isaac.

"What. The fuck. Was that?" he gasped, staring at Dr Meiers. "Are you even...are you even really a fucking medical doctor? Does _no one_ in this town conduct background checks on their employees? What the fuck?"

"You haven't had any training." Dr Meiers' voice was ragged, sending an echo of satisfaction through Stiles. 

_Good._ He hoped he'd broken something in her throat. Maybe she'd bleed to death internally and save them all the trouble of having to kill her ass.

"What training?"

"Marin thought her brother might have been training you to be an emissary. Obviously she was wrong. And yes, of course I'm a medical doctor. It is a useless emissary who cannot heal their pack." But as she said that, her eyes flickered with emotion, and her gaze slid to the floor. "Utterly useless."

Stiles sagged backward, exhausted. "What do you _want_ , lady? What the hell do you want from us?"

"I want to know how you survived a fatal gunshot wound. I want to know how Hale transferred his healing power to a _human_."

"Why? What does it even matter?" He closed his eyes, his body trying to melt through the floor underneath him even as his head started pounding. Fucking rage. Oww.

As if hearing her underwater, Dr Meiers words came at him garbled and wobbly. "Because that's the key."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the universe is conspiring against my Wednesdays, I'm going to say the next chapter will be up on Thursday.
> 
>  
> 
> *Thusday is totally code for Wednesday. Shh. Don't tell the universe.


	15. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deviates from the rest of the fic in that it's one giant scene, all from Stiles' pov.

Stiles was getting really damn tired of waking up in strange places. With a low groan, he sat up, rubbing at the base of his skull where his headache lingered. He couldn't hold back a triumphant grin when he saw the circle of mountain ash around him. 

Suckers.

"We are so fucked."

Turning toward Isaac, who was laying back, staring desolately at the ceiling after he sighed those words out, Stiles snorted. "Why do you say that? Because evil doctors have kidnapped us, tied you up with wolfsbane and trapped you in mountain ash and...are doing who the hell knows what with Derek? Dude, that's just another day in the life!"

"I would feel better about my chances of survival if that weren't so true. And Derek. Shit, the way his life works, I wouldn't be surprised if they're trying to talk him into an orgy or something."

"Oh my god, right? What the hell? Does he give off 'fuck me if you're evil' pheromones or something?" Stiles turned, taking in the room, and looking for anything out of place. It was...mostly bare, honestly. A very minimalist holding cell.

"I dunno. I mean, yeah, he's good looking, but..."

"Puh- _lease_. He's hotter than free flowing lava. But it's like, the only people who ever have a shot are just...Hannibal Lecter levels of insane. Or maybe the dude making the human suit, what was his name?"

"Buffalo Bill."

"Yeah, him." His survey of the room complete, Stiles focused his attention on Isaac. "Okay, so, I guess they have cameras or something in here?"

Isaac shrugged, then winced as the ropes binding him rubbed against his skin. "Not that I can tell. I think she just had good timing earlier? Because, I mean, she'd been in like twice before that to see if you were awake, and shit! That reminds me. What the hell is up with you and mountain ash?"

With a sly smile, Stiles carefully stepped over the mountain ash circling him, taking care not to disturb any, and skipped to Isaac's side. "I have no idea what you mean, dear." He batted his eyelashes for effect, even as he attacked the ropes holding Isaac. "Okay, so. I need to know how weak you are. Because once I break the circle around you, I'm not sure how much time we'll have. I don't feel it when mine are broken, but these people seem to be working on a higher level of magic. Like, Hogwarts bullshit or something."

Isaac stretched as the last rope fell free, and scratched at his skin as it started slowly healing the minor abrasions that had developed under it. "I think I'm good, but if you can find something to clean off my forehead?"

Stiles studied his forehead, frowning. "What's wrong with it?"

"They kept drawing something on it with blood to make me fall asleep. And I mean, it might be gone, but I'll just...feel better, you know? I want to scrub that shit off."

Remembering the way Dr Meiers had touched him with bloody fingers, Stiles shivered all over and said, "Eugh! Okay, no problem." Spitting onto the hem of his shirt, he lifted it and scrubbed at Isaac's forehead, then wet a different spot and attacked his own. "Sorry I used the ol' mom-spit trick, but we don't have much time. I wanna find Derek and get the fuck out."

Isaac rubbed his forehead, grimacing, then straightened up and nodded. "Same. Let's GTFO."

"Okay, here's the plan. I break the circle, you break the door lock. Any chance you can smell Derek?"

"Not really, but I can hear all the heartbeats in the building. I was never good at the tracking by scent thing." Isaac ducked his head, cheeks turning red like he was embarrassed.

"What a coincidence," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. "Me neither." Putting the toe of his shoe up against the circle of ash, Stiles said, "One, two, three!" and broke it.

Isaac was across the room in a flash, breaking the door lock with a dull wrenching sound, and then pulling it open an inch to scan the hallway. "No heartbeats close...and no cameras! Let's go."

Stiles stayed on Isaac's heels, occasionally checking behind them, trusting Isaac to find Derek. When he paused outside a door, ear pressed to it, Stiles nearly vibrated with nerves.

"Well?" he hissed.

Isaac held up two fingers, his eyes flashing gold.

"Is one Derek?"

"I think so," Isaac whispered.

"Okay, so we go in low, you pounce on whoever else is in there, rip their faces off, we get Derek and jet."

"I like how you use the word _we_ , knowing you're gonna make me carry him."

"Oh my god, shut up and go."

Crouching down, Isaac bit his lip and slowly turned the door handle, surprise flickering across his face when it was unlocked. Easing it open, he stuck his face in the crack and then burst into the room, grabbing the burly guy who'd obviously been left to guard Derek and snapping his neck with a quick, vicious twist. He held onto the guy's body, lowering it gently so it wouldn't make a noise to alert anyone else.

While Isaac was doing that, Stiles stepped into the room, closing and locking the door behind him as he took in the setting. Derek was strapped to what looked like a surgical table. The table itself sat in a ring of mountain ash, but along two walls of the very sterile-looking room it looked...like a mad scientist's laboratory. Vials of different colored liquid sat out, each carefully labelled. There were microscopes and centrifuges and bunsen burners and... 

And on the third wall was what looked like an herb shop. Or a potions store straight out of Harry Potter. Seriously? What the hell?

Shaking his head, Stiles broke the circle around Derek so Isaac could get to him. Darting forward, he held off Isaac long enough to check that Derek was breathing. When he felt the warm, moist rush of Derek's breath against his cheek, Stiles nearly collapsed.

He hadn't realized how very scared he was that they'd seriously hurt Derek until this moment.

"Why isn't he awake yet?" Isaac whispered, carefully picking Derek up princess-style.

Stiles shrugged, curling his hands into fists to stop their shaking. "I don't know. He might be having some sort of reaction to whatever they injected us with. Or he could just be more affected by it than I am."

"Maybe they gave him a higher dose, because he's a werewolf?"

The bottom dropped out of Stiles' stomach at that. "But he's not," he said, raising his worried gaze to Isaac's. "He's as human as I am."

"Well, his heartbeat is steady, and he's breathing. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

Since Isaac had Derek, Stiles covered the door, opening it when Isaac nodded, and closing it carefully behind them. They crept down the hallway with Stiles growing increasingly nervous the further they got with no sign of their captors. 

"How many people are there supposed to be here?" he whispered, knowing Isaac would hear him.

With a glance that told Stiles he wasn't alone in his uneasiness at their too smooth exit, Isaac murmured back, "I saw at least five. The three guys that took me, Miss Morrell and the other woman."

"Dr Meiers."

Isaac stumbled to a halt, Derek's limp form almost sliding from his grasp, and turned to stare in horror at a door they'd just passed.

"What?" Stiles hissed, poised to run.

"There's...there's...holy shit, Stiles. There's a _kid_ in there."

Stiles' stomach flipped over and he tiptoed back to the door, rubbing his fingers against his palm before he reached out and turned it. Again, it wasn't locked.

This was going to explode messily in their faces, he just knew it. But he couldn't leave a kid here. He couldn't take the chance that Dr Meiers wouldn't hurt the kid or move it or whatever once she found out she'd lost Stiles, Isaac, and Derek.

When the door swung open with barely a creak of the hinges, Stiles' mouth dropped open. It was another room like the one they'd rescued Derek from. Some sort of evil voodoo science lair, with more medical equipment and beakers and discarded needles in a clearly labeled sharps container.

But the body in the bed was not a grown man. It wasn't someone who could fight back.

Instead, it was a tiny child, no more than five or six years old, with a gleaming bald head, veins showing clearly through the thin, pale skin over its scalp. Stiles honestly couldn't tell of it was a boy or a girl, because it was dressed in a standard hospital gown. An IV was hooked to a thin arm that stuck out from under the sheets covering the body, a dark yellowish liquid pumping through the line.

The tiny form stirred, eyelids flickering, and Stiles held his breath. When the child opened their eyes, blinking around, Stiles stepped forward and smiled his kindest smile, not wanting to alarm them into screaming.

"Hey, kiddo," he whispered, eyes stuck on the place where the needle entered the kid's arm. "What's cookin', good lookin'?" He ignored the exaggerated look of incredulity Isaac shot him. 

Stiles was _good_ with kids, okay?

"Where's my mom?" the kid asked in a plaintive, sleepy tone.

"You know what?" Stiles said, eyes tracing over all the equipment the kid was hooked up to. "We're gonna figure that out, okay? I promise. We're gonna get you out of here and find your mom."

Isaac shoved Stiles with Derek's foot, drawing his attention.

"What?!" Stiles snapped.

"Dude. Phone line." Shifting Derek around, Isaac freed up one hand and pointed to a cord running out of the wall.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathed, rushing to it and picking up the cord, following it to a phone buried under piles of computer readouts. "Holy shit, we've been abducted by the stupidest kidnappers ever." Hands shaking, not daring to believe their luck, Stiles lifted the receiver and listened.

The dial tone that rang loudly in his ear was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

Stiles punched in his dad's number even as he danced a jig. Hell yeah, he could multi-task!

_"This is Sheriff Stilinski."_

Stiles' knees went weak. "Holy shit, Dad, it's good to hear your voice!"

_"Stiles?! Where are you?"_

"I don't know, but Derek and Isaac are with me. Trace this number, but stay on the line. Is Melissa there?" Stiles sent a worried glance toward the door. Seeing this, Isaac carefully set Derek down and went to guard the door.

_"Yeah, just...I..."_

A small smile tugged at Stiles' mouth even as his eyes went damp. "I love you, too. But I need to talk to Melissa because we've got a couple of situations here that I could use her help with."

_"Okay, son. Okay. I'm coming for you."_

"Be careful, Dad. They're...it's Dr Meiers."

_"I know. We got the tapes from the hospital."_

"Okay, but she's an emissary, like Deaton. And she's really powerful. Bring him with you and shoot her ass if you have to."

_"Okay. Melissa's here, but...Stiles?"_

"Yeah, Dad?"

_"Please be careful."_

"Stiles!" Isaac hissed, gesturing frantically.

Stiles looked at him, mouthing _what?_ even as Melissa's voice sounded in his ear.

"Someone's coming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Chapter 16 on Saturday.
> 
> Oh man, I could so turn this into a choose your own adventure story, you have no idea.


	16. The Cavalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New POV character at the end of this one.

"Hang on, Melissa," Stiles said as calmly as possible and put the phone down. He wasn't going to hang up and ruin the trace his dad was running, but he also wasn't leaving Isaac to defend them on his own.

Going quickly to Derek, Stiles knelt and patted his cheek. "Wake up, Derek. Come on, man, you really don't want to be asleep right now. Wake up." His pats got increasingly harder until he was flat out slapping Derek, leaving red handprints on his pale cheeks. "Dude, don't make me—"

Derek's hand whipped up, stopping Stiles mid-swing. "Why do you always _hit_ me? This is a very abusive relationship." His voice was groggy, and he was obviously still half out of it if the way his eyes couldn't seem to focus was any indication.

Relief went through Stiles in a rush that left him weak. "Abusive relationship? Well, _dear_ , the bad guys are upon us, so I need you to get your cute little ass in gear."

"That rhymed," Derek said, wide-eyed, as Stiles helped him to his feet.

The door knob chose that moment to rattle. Stiles shoved Derek into the corner behind the bed, hissing at him to stay down. Now that Derek was out of the line of fire, so to speak, Stiles gently climbed onto the bed, using his body as a shield for the kid who'd been sleepily and quietly watching him move around this whole time.

"What're you doin'?"

"Weeell, sweetheart, there's gonna be some people coming through that door any second. But I don't want you to worry, okay? I won't let anything bad happen." He regretted those words as soon as he spoke them, because the kid's eyes went wide and fearful. Trying to distract them both, he said, "I'm Stiles. What's your name?"

"I'm Sarah."

"Hey, Sarah, it's nice to meet you." Ducking his head under the arm he was bracing himself on, Stiles checked the situation. 

Isaac was wolfed out, crouched a few feet from the door. Derek, that asshole, was standing—wavering, really—shoulder to shoulder with him, having apparently snuck out of his safe spot while Stiles was distracted. 

A low growling began to permeate the room just before the door knob turned a bright, burning red and _melted through the door_ , holy shit. As soon as it was gone, the door was blown back on its hinges, banging loudly against the wall.

Dr Meiers stood there, face white and eyes snapping with some strong emotion. She lifted her hands, looking straight at Stiles and ignoring the werewolf between them. 

"Get away from my daughter!" she screamed, her voice swelling with power. 

Stiles felt himself lifted up and slammed backward as a wave of magic hit him. As he tumbled and twisted through the air, he caught images of Isaac and Derek being pushed backward as well. A short grunt was forced from his lungs as he hit the wall and then fell to the floor. He managed to twist just enough to land in the least painful way possible. 

Jumping to his feet, Stiles ignored the pain that flared _everywhere_ and checked on Sarah. She was...completely fine. Her blankets hadn't even been disturbed by whatever had hit Stiles. But apparently Dr Meiers wasn't finished being evil because she rushed forward, beating Stiles to Sarah's side.

"Oh no you don't," Stiles said, lunging forward and grabbing her. "You're not gonna—"

"Let go of my mommy!" Sarah yelled, sitting up, her little face filled with anger and fear. She reached a hand toward Dr Meiers, who grabbed it and leaned forward, pulling Sarah gently into her arms and smoothing a hand over her bald little head.

"Are you okay, baby?" she murmured, and when Stiles tried to move closer again, he ran into a wall of pure energy.

Backing off, he looked at Isaac. If the situation hadn't been so tense, the look of confusion on Isaac's wolfed-out features would have made Stiles crack up laughing. As it was, he made a hand motion for Isaac to sneak Derek out of the room while Dr Meiers was distracted. 

But whatever energy had kept Stiles away from Dr Meiers and Sarah also blocked the door, trapping them all inside.

~*~

Derek wanted to pretend he had a fucking clue what was going on, but his _everything_ was slow. It was like he was swimming through pancake syrup or something. His vision sort of wavered, his tongue felt thick in his mouth, and there was a pressure that told him he was going to have one hell of a headache soon.

But when Stiles had pushed him down so soon after slapping him awake—they really had to come up with a better way to do that now that Derek didn't heal small hurts instantly—he'd read the urgency of the situation and moved as quickly as possible to help.

When the door flew open to show Dr Meiers standing there looking like a vengeful goddess, small moments started connecting in his brain. The hospital, the needle, his current confusion, Isaac, ...and this very strange looking room.

"Shit," he breathed, just before _nothing_ shoved him backward, dragging Isaac with him.

Three different voices seemed to be talking at once, and Derek looked up to see Isaac lunging at a crackling wall of air. Stiles gave a half-hearted attack from the other side before he edged around to where Isaac was still flinging himself forward.

"Stop," Stiles said, gesturing to the hospital bed. "Even if you do get through, you might end up hurting Sarah."

Dragging himself forward on noodle-y legs, Derek leaned heavily on Stiles and said, "Who's Sarah?"

It wasn't Stiles that answered him, though. Dr Meiers turned to him, a little kid cradled gently in her arms and said, "Sarah is my daughter."

"Okay?" Derek shook his head and sank to his knees, using Stiles as a prop to keep him from falling on his face. 

"Dude, are you okay?" Stiles asked, looking between him and Dr Meiers in concern.

"I dunno. And you said not to trust WebMD. Ugh, I think I'm gonna be sick," Derek groaned, feeling his stomach turn sour.

"What the fuck did you do to him, you psychotic bitch?" Stiles knelt beside him, slipping one hand around Derek's back and massaging gently at the nape of his neck. 

Derek leaned into the touch, feeling marginally better for it. Isaac crouched on his other side, one hand tentatively wrapping around Derek's wrist and attempting to drain his pain.

It didn't help.

Derek frowned down at Isaac's hand, still pushing into Stiles' lightly kneading fingers. "Why...?"

"Because you're not actually in pain," Dr Meiers said, her voice sounding defeated. "It's just your body fighting the effects of the drug I gave you at the hospital."

"Yeah? Then why was I okay?" Stiles' aggressively angry voice made the kid Dr Meiers was holding—Sarah?—whimper, and his fingers spasmed against Derek in response.

Dr Meiers took a moment to soothe Sarah before she said, quietly, "You were fine because your body has a tolerance for drugs that Mr Hale's does not." Looking at the three of them, she closed her eyes and shook her head. "Go. All of you. Just...go."

"You're letting us leave. Just like that?" 

Derek stared at Dr Meiers, feeling the disbelief that colored Stiles' tone in a very muted way. The bad guys never just _let_ them leave.

"Yes. I'm letting you leave." Dr Meiers settled Sarah onto the bed with a small smile before turning back to them. Gesturing to the side of the room, she said, "I assume you called your father. I won't be able to hold you here long enough anyway."

Isaac stood and reached down for Derek, who let him help him to his feet. Still feeling a vague sense of confusion—and a buzzing in his head—Derek thought to ask, "So...why'd you take us?"

"It doesn't matter now. Just go."

Stiles scoffed loudly. "Yeah, no. Sorry, lady, you don't get to kidnap people and then say it doesn't matter why. You know my dad's going to ask you anyway, so you may as well just tell us."

"Fine, you want to know? I'll tell you. But not here. Sarah needs some rest." Turning back to Sarah, Dr Meiers leaned over, placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and said, "Sleep, little monkey. You'll feel better when you wake up, okay?"

"Not tired, Momma," Sarah said, but the exhaustion in her tone gave away the lie.

"I know, baby. But do it for me? Dream of sweet things." Dr Meiers traced a thumb over where Sarah's eyebrows should have been. Back and forth, so soothing, until Sarah's eyes fluttered closed.

"Just for future reference," Isaac whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear him. "I'd prefer that to the blood on the forehead trick."

~*~

John raced through the darkened streets, running with lights on only. He didn't know if the people who had Stiles and Derek—and Isaac too, apparently—had enhanced hearing or not and he didn't want to give away how close they were. Deaton shifted in the backseat, and Scott sat forward in the front, both seeming a bit more attentive than they had been.

"Someone's using magic," Deaton said, his calm manner more ruffled than John could ever remember.

"I can smell Stiles and Isaac," Scott said.

"Do they smell...hurt?" John asked, not daring to ask the question that hung on the tip of his tongue, whispering through his mind and taunting him with all he still had to lose.

 _Not this time._ He was not going to lose his boy. 

"I don't know. It's not that..." Scott waved his hand through the air, shrugging helplessly.

John tightened his grip on the steering wheel and jerked it to the right, barely slowing down to make the turn into the old medical clinic. In a practiced move, he flipped off the lights, satisfied that they died before he cleared the tree line. There should be no warning—other than the possible crunch of his tires—that they had arrived.

"Five heartbeats," Scott breathed, just loud enough for them to hear in the charged silence of the police cruiser.

"Okay," John said, easing open his door and unsnapping the piece of leather that secured his gun in his holster. "I've got regular bullets. Alan, plain lead will work best without hurting Isaac, right?"

"Yes. If Derek is in the line of fire, I would advise against—"

"Jesus _Christ_ , man, I know. This isn't my first day on the job. I just want to be sure that whatever is in there, holding my son hostage and making him request _medical assistance_ , can be brought down with lead."

"It should. Scott, do you sense any other wolves?" Deaton's voice seemed deeper, somehow, fuller. 

"No, but...it smells weird in there. I can still only distinguish Stiles and Isaac by smell." He shot a worried look at John, who just nodded, pushing his own fear for Derek—the young man whose life had been marked by nothing but tragedy—down and away. 

There was no time for excess emotion. They had to rescue whoever they could, and if there were five heartbeats...that might mean that Isaac and Stiles were outgunned.

Slipping his service revolver out of his holster, John thumbed off the safety and rested his finger on the trigger guard. He watched from the corner of his eye as Deaton began marking trees with some sort of ointment. Scott looked at him, waiting for approval, though John couldn't help but notice—and be thankful for—the way they flashed red in the dim light.

John held up three fingers, ticking them down. When his last finger dropped, Scott rushed forward, a blur against the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up on Wednesday!
> 
> Am I the only one looking forward to Curling in the Olympics?? Can. Not. Wait.


	17. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, shit. So. Yesterday was Wednesday. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Have a Sterek-ish hug.

Stiles looked at Dr Meiers, then glanced over to Isaac, who was helping Derek to his feet. "Do you want to—"

Isaac cut him off. "Stiles, dude, you might want to grab the phone. Cora's freaking out."

"Oh, _shit_." Lunging for the phone, Stiles grabbed it up, automatically babbling into the receiver. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot—"

"Stiles!" Cora's growl sent a shiver of fear down his spine. "Is Derek okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Stiles turned to Isaac, motioning him to bring Derek closer. "He's fine, just kinda out of it. She dosed him—"

"The fucking _doctor_? I am going to bathe in her fucking blood."

"Whoa, haha, yeah. Um. You know, I'm just gonna let you talk to the big guy now, all right?" Thrusting the phone at Derek, Stiles backed away until his hip hit the counter, and then he moved sideways to let Derek lean against it. Dragging Isaac to the side, he lowered his voice, keeping one eye on Dr Meiers. "So, hey. I'd kinda be happier if you and Derek got out of here? I mean, I wanna know what the fuck is going on—"

Isaac snorted. "Of course you do. You're _Stiles_."

Ignoring him, Stiles continued. "I just think someone should look over Derek, make sure he's really okay. I mean, it seems like he is, but when have we ever been that lucky, you know?"

"Yeah, how about this plan, though? We all leave and you just get this lady to email you the highlights. Because you know as well as I do that Scott would fucking rip my head off if I left you here with her." Isaac's pointed glare spoke volumes.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles shrugged and said, "Dude, Scott's met me, okay? My insatiable curiosity is what landed us in this whole werewolf mess to begin with." Waving that all off, he was about to say something else when Derek spoke up.

"Uh, Scott and your dad are here with Deaton."

Stiles' jaw dropped, eyes bugging out slightly. "Did you...did you _hear_ them?" Excitement began to flood him at the thought that maybe this little adventure had brought back enough of a spark of the supernatural in Derek that his wolf would have reawakened. Or something.

"Nope," Derek said, swaying slightly and slurring his words. "Cora said Melissa's tracking them. But they're here. So. Unless you want your dad shooting up the joint, we might want to go meet them."

"Fuck," Stiles muttered, running one hand through his hair. Looking at Dr Meiers, he said, "Is it safe to leave the room now, or am I just gonna bounce around like a pinball?"

"I would actually prefer that we all leave," she said in a low voice. "Since my daughter is actually asleep."

Stiles winced and looked at the bed, where Sarah was twitching restlessly in her sleep. "Right. Okay, I'm gonna go get my dad so he doesn't discharge his weapon and have to spend three days of paperwork and an official inquiry explaining why." Pointing at Dr Meiers, he narrowed his eyes and said, "And if you have _any_ thoughts about hurting him, I will end you personally."

She just gave him a flat look and walked out the door. 

"Hey." Grabbing Isaac's arm, he pointed at Derek and said, "Help him." Stepping outside of the room, he let out a small breath of relief and turned back in the direction they'd been traveling before Isaac had noticed Sarah's presence. Stiles would have to remember to ask him how he'd known about her later.

Rounding the corner, he let out a high-pitched scream and fell backward, arms flailing at his attacker...

...who wasn't attacking.

"Fuck! Scott! What the hell, man? You scared the shit out of me!"

"Me? I scared _you?_ " Scott pulled him up into a hug, patting down his body. Looking for injuries, probably.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. Cora said my dad's with you?"

"Yeah, he went—" 

A shout rang hollowly through the building, and Stiles whispered a quick, "Shit," before pulling away from Scott and taking off in the direction it had come from. Over his shoulder he called out, "Go find Isaac and Derek. I'll be right back."

Angry voices led him straight to an open area—probably a waiting room, considering the regular grouping of cushioned seats—where his dad was holding a gun on Dr Meiers, his voice ice-cold and skin a mottled red as he demanded she tell him where 'his boy' was. Stiles clasped a hand to his chest to stifle the pang of emotion that sent through him just as Dr Meiers pointed at him.

"Dad," he said, his voice strangled. As soon as his dad turned to him, lowering his arms, Stiles was there, capturing his dad in a firm embrace. "I'm okay," he whispered. "Promise."

"Stiles, son. Oh my god, I thought..." A tremor went through his dad, and Stiles tightened his grip in response. With a shaky breath, his dad pulled away, anger replacing the relief that had flooded his expression when he'd seen Stiles standing there. "What the hell is going on here?"

"We were just about to figure that out ourselves," Stiles said, turning to Dr Meiers. "You got here just in time to hear Dr Meiers explain what the hell she was thinking."

Her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. "Tell Dr Deaton to come inside. I know he's here. And the others as well, if they want to join us. This is...going to take a while."

Stiles was about to say something when his dad spoke up. 

"If you're thinking to distract us while your accomplices find a way to save you, I'll let you know now that Marin Morrell is in the custody of the Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department."

"Your dad is so badass," Scott said, and Stiles looked up to see him leading Isaac and Derek into the room.

"Right?" Stiles said, shooting his dad a smile. "Law _enforcer_." 

As he took it all in, his dad standing tall, Isaac and Scott taking up flanking positions near enough to Dr Meiers to prevent her from doing _anything_ out of line, and then to Derek, who was half-way propped against the arm of his chair, it all hit him. His knees started shaking, his hands spasmed, and he felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. Drawing deep, steady breaths, he very carefully walked to Derek's side, dropped to his knees, and gathered him into as loose a hug as he could manage.

"Stiles?" Derek murmured, his voice still slightly off.

"Yeah, sorry." Stiles rubbed his face against Derek's shoulder, breathing him in. "Sorry, dude, I just...you're okay. You're okay. Sorry." He couldn't let go, and he was probably freaking Derek out and embarrassing the fuck out of his future self, but he needed this, to hold Derek and _feel_ that he was going to be fine. "I know it's stupid. We've been through worse, yeah? It's just that you're _human_ now and they can _hurt_ you now." 

"Stiles, it's okay." Derek laid a heavy arm across Stiles' shoulders, tugging him him a little closer and giving him a quick squeeze. "Why do you think it pisses us off so much when you fling yourself into danger? This, right here. You're just as important as anyone else."

A loud cough made Stiles pull back, swiping at his eyes. Stupid emotions. He looked up and saw Scott staring at the ceiling, lips twitching, and his dad rolling his eyes. 

Isaac just grimaced. "Anyone else notice the lack of life-affirming hugs I'm receiving? Anyone?"

"Shut up," Stiles groused. "I was the one who got your furry ass out of bondage. I think that trumps life-affirming hugs."

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, only to stiffen in alarm. Seconds later, Stiles followed suit. Footsteps could be heard coming down the hall, and Stiles immediately moved into a protective stance until Scott said, "It's just Deaton."

"Now that the gang's all here," Stiles' dad said, turning to Dr Meiers, who'd claimed her own chair at some point, "I want to inform you of your rights. You have the right to remain silent—"

~*~

"Am I under arrest, Sheriff?" The weariness that showed in Dr Meiers' face was reflected in her voice. Derek leaned forward in his chair, still trying to shake off the effects of the drugs she'd used on him.

Talking to Cora had been a uniquely frustrating experience, as he'd kept losing the thread of their conversation. In fact, he'd been losing time in snatches since waking up. 

Stiles sank onto the chair beside him, reaching out one hand to knead at the muscles in Derek's neck. "You okay, man?" he whispered.

"Give me one damn good reason why you shouldn't be," John was growling in response to Dr Meiers, his fury hot enough to pin anyone in place, powerful druid or no.

"I'm fine. Just...loopy, I guess," Derek murmured to Stiles, watching Dr Meiers struggle with words.

"I'm the emissary for the Lacroix pack."

A sharply drawn breath made Derek look up to see Deaton standing there, eyes wide with surprise. "You..." he whispered, then dropped into silence.

Derek leaned into Stiles' side when he felt Stiles' fingers tighten on his neck. A rage attack would do them little good now; events had turned to their favor. Infighting would only weaken their position. Plus...Derek could answer this question. 

He might not be a werewolf any longer, but he'd not lost his knowledge of their world.

"The Lacriox pack," he said, pitching his voice into a soothing drawl, "is the largest in the Southern US."

"How large?" Scott asked, shifting restlessly as his lips pulled into a frown. Derek was happy to see him weighing the consequences, but since this was Hale territory, Dr Meiers was the one encroaching. Their pack would be safe from retribution, in theory.

It was the 'in theory' part that worried Derek. Three wolves against the might of the Lacroix's...a shudder ran through him. "When Mom was alive, they numbered in the thirties. Is that still the case?" he asked Dr Meiers, who nodded.

"Yes, although my presence and my...actions...have nothing to do with my pack. I'm on a sort of sabbatical from my duties as emissary."

"I know that's untrue, Donna." Deaton's voice was soft, flat with disapproval.

Dr Meiers sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "I took on an apprentice—"

Stiles quietly coughed out, "Sith Lord."

"—and he is taking care of the day to day duties. My alpha knows where I am, but not what I've done."

"You took a chance of being exiled from your pack? What could...?" Deaton wrapped a hand over his jaw, covering his mouth, as he studied Dr Meiers.

Derek felt a rush of unwanted sympathy. "Your daughter," he said softly.

Nodding, Dr Meiers looked directly at him and said, "Before _you_...it was all theory. Just hints of possibility. But Marin came to me last year, tracked me down and stood up to our pack's Enforcers to get a meeting with me. It was shortly after Sarah had been diagnosed. She told me about how you saved your sister."

Derek felt Stiles stiffen next to him, so Derek placed a comforting hand on his knee, willing him to patience.

"I had spent months pumping poison disguised as medicine into my daughter's veins. I held her every morning when her body rejected the breakfast I'd fed her. I ran a brush through her hair and watched it fall out in clumps. And suddenly, as if the universe itself heard my prayers, Marin came to me and told me of a wolf who could heal with his touch. I knew then...if you could heal another wolf, you could heal a human."

Turning to John, she shook her head, hands splayed helplessly. "Is there anything you would not do? Are there any laws—whether of man or of the physical world—you would not break to save the life of your child?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Saturday.
> 
> Happy Hallmark Day!


	18. Discussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so you know how (for those who write) you include a detail in your fic and can't remember later what that detail was? So you have to go back and find it, but there's no helpful sticky note pointing at the text saying, "Hey, this information you're looking for is here!?" Yeah, I had to scour my own fic just now because I could not remember what Derek was wearing and realized I'd made him fully clothed for this scene. Which was obviously going to be wrong, because he lost his shirt at the hospital.
> 
> HAHAHA CONTINUITY. WHAT EVEN IS IT?! 
> 
> But hey, bonus! Shirtless Derek, am I right? *wink, nudge*

"Okay, wait, no. Stop. Stop right there," Stiles gritted out between clenched teeth. Standing, he put himself between Dr Meiers and his dad. "You don't get to play the sympathy card right now. You don't get to emotionally manipulate a man whose son you kidnapped. Nope. That is not okay."

Feeling the anger building up in his veins, he began to pace, pointedly not looking at Deaton or Dr Meiers for fear that doing so would make the anger overwhelm him. "According to Ms Morrell, you're trying to find some sort of universal cure for all human illnesses. Having met your daughter, I can completely understand your desire to cure her cancer. I mean, all these werewolves in our lives can heal in an instant, so why not us, huh? Makes perfect sense."

Stopping in the middle of the floor, he chanced looking directly at Dr Meiers. "What I don't get is why you thought you needed to _kidnap_ us to make us help you. Why you took a chance of seriously harming Derek by shooting him up with something that is still affecting him, hours after it left _my_ bloodstream. And he's got about fifty pounds on me."

"Why would you help me? An emissary from another pack who entered your territory without observing the proper rituals?" Dr Meiers stared at Stiles with a look that told him how ridiculous she found that possibility.

"Well, first of all...proper rituals? Are we even aware that there are proper rituals to entering someone else's territory?" Stiles looked to Scott, who gave a tiny nod, then deflated slightly. "Okay, apparently _some_ of us knew that and didn't share with the rest of the class. But, you know, whatever. Our pack needs to work on our communication, not your fault." Waving his hands through the air, Stiles started pacing again. "So you found out Derek healed Cora and packed your daughter up and moved here with some of your pack."

"We...each of us have our reasons to seek out a cure. Marin was driven by the memory of her grandmother—"

Deaton made a small noise, drawing Stiles' gaze for a moment.

"I had Sarah, and our guardians—"

Isaac interrupted with, "The goons who took me down?"

"Michael, Anthony, and Byron. They were not just guardians but assistants, well trained. Before I met Marin, I'd already been working to synthesize werewolf healing. It is Why she sought me out. I theorized that a combination of magic and medicine could be combined with werewolf DNA to create a cure for most human illnesses. It seemed fool proof. But each trial either destroyed the human blood or had no effect."

"Yes, you're not the first to consider tying our magic to their healing." Deaton interrupted Stiles' pacing, putting a hand to his shoulder and motioning toward Derek, who was looking a bit green. "I've looked into it myself, as a hobby of sorts. I believe it's impossible for us who are in their world not to wonder. What I don't understand is why you came here. You had both born and turned wolves aplenty in Baton Rouge."

Stiles reclaimed his seat beside Derek while Deaton took over questioning Dr Meiers. Which was actually awesome because Stiles knew Deaton's veterinary medicine background would help him see holes in the doctor's story. It was less awesome that Deaton had apparently turned experimenting on healing into a hobby.

That definitely deserved some raised eyebrows, but Stiles didn't have any to give at the moment. Derek looked like he was about two seconds away from losing his lunch. If he'd even eaten lunch before their appointments. 

The very thought of food made Stiles' stomach rumble loudly.

Looking up, Stiles interrupted the conversation—about magic being based in the land and requiring an adjustment period for emissaries when out of their home territory—to ask, "Hey. How long have we been here? I could eat, and I think it'd probably be good for Derek. Help him flush out whatever the hell you shot us up with."

"It's just past 10pm," his dad said, coming over and helping Stiles haul Derek to an upright position. "Scott? Call my work cell and put your phone on speaker. I don't trust her, and knowing she has accomplices—"

"That one killed Anthony," Dr Meiers said, pointing to Isaac.

"Jesus Christ," his dad muttered. "Okay, look. Phone on speaker. We'll decide what to do with the body tomorrow. Somewhere _not_ in this town. We don't need another visit from your delightful dad," he said, looking pointedly at Scott.

Scott nodded and pulled up his dad's contact info. A second later, John pulled his phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and pressed the speaker button. "Okay, we're listening in. We'll be back in a minute, with food for everyone. Deaton, can you cover Dr Meiers?"

"I believe so."

"All right, as long as you're not a hundred percent sure, Isaac stays with you. Scott, find the guys with her." John pointed at each of them in turn, his voice gruff and commanding.

"They're not here."

"And I'm sure we believe you, Dr Meiers," John said smoothly, making Stiles crack a grin. "Scott, leave your phone with Deaton so we can listen in. If you come into trouble, just howl. Isaac'll hear you."

With the plans set, John and Stiles half-carried Derek out of the room.

~*~

Derek groaned, swallowing the bile that kept filling his mouth.

"Hey, kid, you need to stop for a minute?" John asked, hesitating before opening the door leading outside. "If you feel like you're gonna puke, you should probably make use of the facilities here. That'll be better than getting it all over yourself."

Derek shook his head. "I really don't want to puke. I think Stiles is right; I just need some food. Right now everything is just hitting me hard because I didn't have any lunch."

"Oh, holy shit. You didn't eat lunch?" Stiles leaned in closer, his face right in Derek's, making Derek flinch backward. 

The sharp movement upset his already roiling stomach, though, and Derek just nodded quickly. "Bathroom, yeah." Jerking away from Stiles and John, he stumbled down the hall to the door marked with the universal "women" sign, and pushed his way through. It was, thankfully, a single person bathroom, so he didn't have any stalls to contend with, just went straight to the toilet and heaved. Very little came out, which wasn't as worrisome as it should be, considering he hadn't eaten in about twelve hours. Mostly he was just spitting up the bile he'd been swallowing down since he woke up.

"Hey, man." Stiles voice preceded the hand that landed gently on his back, smoothing up and down his spine. "You okay? I sent dad for the food. He didn't really need us both, anyway, just wanted to get us out of there, I think. He's worried some magic and supernatural shit is going to go down with us right in the middle of the fight."

Derek rested his head against his arm, closing his eyes against the ache building behind them. Focusing on the motion of Stiles' hand, he felt his stomach calming by slow degrees, though it wasn't doing much for the headache ratcheting up. "We ate so late this morning," he said, his voice hoarse, "that I wasn't really hungry at lunch time. And I know sometimes doctors don't want you eating before an appointment, so I figured better safe than sorry. I just…" He shrugged, then winced when the movement jostled his head. "Knew we'd be eating dinner early with your dad."

"Yeah, that was the plan. Okay, so food is a high priority." 

Derek whined when Stiles pulled his hand away, but there was the sound of running water and a cold cloth was draped over the back of his neck. "Oh," he murmured. "That feels good." A droplet of water fell from the shirt and rolled down his back, making him shiver.

"Yeah. Just, uh, don't open your eyes anytime soon. My pasty flesh plus fluorescent lighting is a blinding proposition." Stiles chuckled self-consciously, and Derek could hear him shuffling his feet.

Cracking open one eye, Derek shot Stiles a look of what he hoped conveyed his disbelief. "Body conscious at this late date? Stiles, I've seen you at your worst, okay? Shirtless is definitely not your worst."

"Oh yeah, big guy?" Stiles asked, humor lacing his tone. "You've been appreciating my fine, skinny self, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah. Skinny, defenseless Stiles. Don't know if you've noticed or not, but you're not sixteen anymore." Derek dragged the shirt from his neck and pressed it to his forehead, wiping up the clammy sweat that had developed.

"Uh…what does _that_ mean?"

"Means you're not skinny and defenseless anymore. I mean, not that you were ever defenseless. You can cut down whole forests with that sharp tongue of yours. But, you know…" Derek waved a hand. "Look in the mirror some time. You're a good looking guy. Stop putting yourself down."

Silence descended on the bathroom then, with Stiles occasionally rinsing the shirt. After the third time of that—which was likely just busy work for Stiles while he waited for the food to arrive—Stiles cleared his throat and said, "Thanks."

"What? I don't think I heard that right! Did you get possessed again or—"

"Oh my god," Stiles said, laughing. "Shut up or I'll give you a swirly." Fiddling with the faucet, Stiles went serious again before he said, "I guess it's just hard, you know. When everyone in your social circle is like supernaturally hot. Or Danny. And I still think there's something going on _there_ , because those dimples can't possibly be human."

Derek quirked an eyebrow, which probably looked ridiculous, considering he was still half-draped over the toilet. "Yeah? So you like Danny?"

"What? No. I mean, you know, he's undeniably attractive. But yeah, no. Not my type, I guess? Hell, I dunno." Yanking his hand away from the faucet, Stiles smiled a false little smile and turned around, propping his hip against the sink. "Gee, wonder if Dad's back yet?"

"I doubt it. He's only been gone ten minutes or so."

"Yeah, I should probably check though."

Derek lifted his head and turned to really look at Stiles. The nervous fluttering in his hands, the way his cheeks were splotchy with redness, and the lack of eye contact were kind of… worrisome. "Stiles?"

Stiles' shoulders fell in a slump. "Look, can we not have this discussion right now? You're sick and I'm hungry, and that's never a good combination."

"Sure?" Derek felt lost. "What discussion?"

"What…? Oh, for fuck's sake." Stiles knocked his head against the palm of his hand, then pushed away from the sink almost angrily, stalking toward the door. "I'll be right back."

The door closed behind Stiles with a thump that resounded in Derek's head. At about the same exact time that realization struck. 

Stiles didn't like _Danny_.

Knowledge was like a two by four to his already pounding head, and Derek dropped it back to his crossed arms with a groan. He'd think about this more later. After the night was over, after he'd eaten, after he'd had time to consider whether or not he was completely off base in what he was thinking.

Because he knew Stiles. Stiles wasn't subtle.

Stiles had _never_ been subtle when he was attracted to a person. Lydia could write a book about how unsubtle Stiles was. But if what Derek was slowly beginning to believe was true, then Stiles was attracted to _Derek_. Could this situation get any more fucked up?

Pushing all that to the back of his mind to think about later, Derek just took a moment to soak in the peace and quiet of the restroom. He slid the shirt off of his neck—his body temperature had turned it warm and clammy already—and used it to wipe around his mouth before levering himself to his feet and staggering to the sink.

Turning on the faucet, he rinsed his mouth, then cupped his hands under the flow of cool, clear water, and drank deeply. When his thirst was sated, he rinsed the shirt and squeezed out the excess water, wiping up his face and neck and drying his chest where water had run down it.

He was just lucid enough to wonder where his shirt was before the door opened enough for Stiles to pop his head around it and say, "Food's here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, where I embarrass the hell out of myself with pseudo magic/science/medicine, will be up on Wednesday. I'm warning you now, it's a ton of info. I'm trying to figure out how to not make it feel like an info-dump, but there's only so much that can be done to prevent it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA! I AM POSTING ON WEDNESDAY EVERYWHERE IN THE US! *feels flush with accomplishment*

Spreading the wet shirt over the sink, Derek turned toward Stiles and started to walk, only to feel a return of his weakness and nausea. 

"Jesus, dude," Stiles said, rushing forward to grab him. "I know this is new for you, okay, but you have to trust me on this. Your body isn't just going to magically heal itself anymore. It needs things from you. Balanced nutrition—not just the empty calories in that crap you used to stock your apartment with—sleep and exercise. I know you've been off your game, but as soon as all this crap is behind us and you've had a solid twelve hours of sleep, we'll go running or something. Build you back up."

"That sounds…" Derek blinked away the fuzziness from his vision. "Did you just quote a health class text at me?"

"Yeah, Coach would be so proud." Stiles pressed his arm against the small of Derek's back, urging him forward.

Derek accepted Stile's help, wrapping one arm across his shoulders and letting Stiles have some of his weight. Thinking back to the aborted conversation from earlier, Derek swallowed and said, "Hey, uh..." He stopped and tried again. "About earlier…"

Stiles sighed and shifted against Derek's side. "Food, man. Seriously."

Debating on whether to press the issue, Derek finally just nodded and half-closed his eyes against the lights as they walked back into the room with the others. John thrust a bag at him, face lined with concern. "You look like shit, son. I could put a week's worth of groceries in those bags under your eyes."

Derek smiled wanly and opened the bag, his stomach flipping again as the scent of the food hit him.

"Didn't know what you'd want, so I got you two Bacon Double Whoppers with cheese and large fries."

"That sounds great," Derek said truthfully. "Thanks."

"Yeah, well. Enjoy it for now," Stiles said, glowering at his father. "You're human now, cholesterol is a _thing_. And _you_ ," he poked John directly in his chest with one long finger, "had better have a salad in that bag of yours."

"Yep," John said, lips twitching. "Lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, onions." He pulled out a burger and unwrapped it, sucking a dollop of ketchup off his finger. "All on a sesame seed bun!" He side stepped Stiles while taking an enormous bite.

"Old man, I am trying to keep you alive here. Heart disease is the number one killer of men your age!"

"Shut up and eat your burger," Derek muttered, grabbing onto a loop of Stiles' jeans and tugging him down into a chair. "We'll grill chicken breasts tomorrow, when we're not stuck with Dr Demento."

"You take that back!" Stiles said while picking the tomatoes and onions off his burger. Derek pulled the top bun off his and held it out for Stiles to pile them on top. "Dr Demento is awesome. Dr Meiers is a—"

"Hey. Enough, okay? Eat." 

Stiles frowned petulantly and slid a dark look across the room at Dr Meiers. Derek looked over as well to find Isaac was still watching Dr Meiers while slurping noisily at a cup of mostly ice. Derek bit back a grin, remembering all the times his betas had done similar things to annoy him. An old pang of sorrow speared through his chest as he thought briefly of Boyd and Erica, and then he let it go, turning his energies toward consuming his own meal.

Silence reigned but for the crinkle of paper wrappers and the shifting of bodies until Stiles finished his burger. Standing, Stiles walked across the room to Deaton and had a quiet conversation. 

Derek looked down at the second burger he held clenched in his hands, the condiments squeezing out around his fingers. He hated this. Hated feeling like he was fucking everything up just by existing. 

"Hey."

Looking up, Derek saw Stiles crouched in front of him, one hand reaching for the burger. 

"Maybe you should eat that instead of mangling it? I mean, I know you're used to killing your food first and all… rwarrr." Stiles hooked one hand into a claw and made a swiping gesture while grinning. It was almost a real one. "But this one stopped running about three weeks ago, I'd say."

Derek snorted and wrapped the burger back up. "I'm good. The first one was pretty filling."

"Try to eat it anyway. It might soak up some of that shit she gave you."

Tilting his head, Derek considered that. "I think I'm better now, actually. I mean, not great or anything, but definitely a lot better than I was earlier."

Stiles scrubbed his hands over his thighs, nodding. "Okay, then, time to get caught up. So, to sum up what Deaton told me, Dr Meiers was looking for a cure for her husband, then her daughter—apparently Sarah's cancer was hereditary—and was trying to find it in werewolf blood. Makes sense, right? Well, at first it was all above-board. She was getting permission from her pack, using their fluids, even the alpha's saliva and scrapings from the alpha's teeth. But it wasn't working. Nothing was working."

Derek held up one hand, stopping the flow of words. "Why didn't she just ask the alpha to bite her husband? Or Sarah?"

Twisting one hand back and forth with a scrunched expression, Stiles said, "Apparently the alpha _did_ give her husband the bite? But the cancer had weakened him so that when he got the bite, instead of turning him, it killed him."

Derek felt a pang of empathy, and looked across the room at Dr Meiers, who was curled up in a chair, her head resting on one upturned palm.

"Hey, no. Uh uh. No looking at her like that. Derek, what she did to you—to us—was wrong. No amount of sob stories can excuse what she did." Stiles laid his hand on Derek's knee, squeezing it in a firm grip. "People aren't just allowed to take what they want, okay?"

"No, I know that." 

"Do you?"

Irritation flashed through Derek at the doubt he heard in Stiles' voice. "Yes. Okay? I know there's no excuse for what she did to us, to Isaac. But I understand her motivations. Hell, Stiles, how many times have we killed someone or something just to protect our pack? Sarah is her pack, okay. She's trying to protect her daughter."

"Yeah, but," Isaac said, obviously having been listening in on the conversation, "why the fuck didn't she just come to us?" Turning to Dr Meiers, he glared at her and asked, "How difficult could it possibly have been for you to approach one of us and say, 'hey, my kid has cancer, I know about werewolves, do you think you could help us out?'"

~*~

Stiles felt a breeze as the door opened and turned to see his dad entering the room. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling about ten steps off center. He hadn't even known his dad had left.

A bit of soft cotton landed on his head, obscuring his vision, and Stiles pulled it off, holding it up to see a Sheriff's Department t-shirt. Shooting his dad a grateful look, he stood to put it on and saw that Derek was struggling to get into his own. 

Turning back to the conversation happening across the room, he said, "I second that." He walked toward them, bumping Isaac's shoulder as he drew even. "It would be really easy, actually. Just like… hey Isaac, role play with me?"

Isaac snorted, but turned toward him expectantly.

"Dude, I think I've figured out a way to cure cancer!"

Isaac affected a look of extreme excitement. "Dude, no way!"

"Way! But the problem is," Stiles bit his lip, making his eyes huge and playing it up, "I need werewolves to find this cure. Because of your awesome healing factor."

"Oh, shit, really? You mean _I could help_?" Isaac clasped his hands to his chest in a near swoon. His overly affected acting drew chuckles from Scott and Stiles' dad.

"Yes! It's going to be so awesome! We might even be able to eradicate _all human disease_ with this cure!" Stiles slapped his hands to his cheeks, really getting into it.

"Well, sign me up, buddy!"

Turning back to Dr Meiers, Stiles dropped the fake excitement from his expression and said, "And _that_ is how you convince werewolves—and anyone else with an ounce of humanity—to help you."

"Really? You don't say. Because it's just that easy to get werewolves to agree to long months of intense, painfully invasive tests. Right? I sent out petitions to all the packs on this continent. I asked for volunteers. Do you know how many responded? None. Not one pack approved my request."

Stiles spun toward Deaton, an angry question on his lips, but was forestalled by Deaton's raised hand.

"When was this?"

"April of 2008."

The ire filling Stiles died. "That was after the fire."

"It doesn't matter." Dr Meiers dropped her head back against the wall. "Even if the Hales hadn't been wiped out, my request would have been denied. It's the way our world works. Wolves need emissaries but they don't trust us."

"Because," Derek said, his voice quiet, but somehow filling the room, "all we see when we look at you is a cage. Emissaries _are_ necessary; they heal us and keep the pack in balance. They're as necessary as chains at the full moon."

Spinning toward Deaton, Stiles pointed and said, " _This_ is why your policy of maintaining a distance from the pack is dangerous. If the emissaries were part of their packs, truly ran with them instead of remaining distant, this sort of situation could be avoided."

Deaton pursed his lips, eyes flicking from Stiles to Dr Meiers as if to reprimand him for airing the pack's dirty laundry in front of a stranger. 

"It doesn't work that way," Dr Meiers said, drawing their attention again. "Emissaries _must_ maintain their distance or our magic becomes too entwined with our pack. We draw our magic from nature. I had to find alternatives to my formulae when we moved here. The very land resonates on a different magical scale than it does in Louisiana. It's…more difficult to tune into it. It threw off all my calculations."

"That's why it took you so long," Scott said, speaking up for the first time.

"What?" Stiles frowned, looking between Scott and Dr Meiers, wondering what he was talking about.

Scott shrugged. "Well, it makes sense, right? She didn't just show up the night you were shot. She's been here for…"

"She was hired by the hospital on October 20 last year," Stiles' dad said, his tone clearly that of the Sheriff and not some random onlooker.

"About two months after I healed Cora," Derek added, sounding tired. 

Stiles turned and studied him, looking for signs of extreme stress or fatigue. He looked tired, but at least he'd regained some of the color in his face. In the bathroom, he'd looked like he was about two seconds shy of asking Stiles to cut his arm off with a bonesaw.

Dr Meiers was nodding. "I thought at first that it was the area. That maybe there was something in the earth's magic here that lent itself toward healing. But I kept running into the same issues I had back home. And Sarah was getting progressively more sick. When the two of you came into the hospital…when I verified your identity, Derek, it was…" She drew in a deep breath. "It was a gift. I had unlimited access to you and Stiles. I could do things at the hospital I couldn't do elsewhere. I could order MRIs and CT scans and xrays."

"And Marin?" Deaton asked, his voice quiet, troubled.

"She gave us information." Dr Meiers' voice was cool, unconcerned. "Invaluable information about the threat level of the pack and the moves we could expect."

The look on Scott's face and the betrayal in Isaac's eyes made the rage build anew in Stiles. He felt it edging under his skin, swelling and expanding until it was forcing the air from his lungs. Curling his hands into fists, he dug in, held on, tried to keep his feet under him as it poured through him. A shout ripped from him and he turned blindly, seeking help. 

As if from a great distance, he could hear his father informing Dr Meiers of her rights, could hear the metallic chink of handcuffs locking together. Those noises should have helped calm him, but it was too late. The anger had hold of him and wasn't going to release him without a fight. 

Cool hands cupped his cheeks, prompting him to open his eyes—he didn't remember closing them—to see Derek's face inches from his own. "Control it," Derek whispered, his breath fanning over Stiles' cheeks. "We talked about anchors…did you find one?"

With difficulty, Stiles swallowed, forcing the anger back down so he could speak. "Yeah, I." He dropped his head, shaking with the effort not to lash out. He felt the press of Derek's forehead against his own, grounding him. "Please let this work," he whispered.

Focusing inward, he listened to the breath rush in and out of his lungs, felt the creak of the bones in his hands as they flexed into fists. Thought about the startling shock of pain, and the fragility of his body. Thought about not mending a wound instantly. About how much more careful he had to be than the rest of his pack.

The more he focused on his own mortality, the more the anger drew back. It didn't go away, not at all. It just receded like the ocean at low tide. There was an entire beach of emotion between himself and the anger again, and he let out a small, happy whoop when he felt it drop away.

"Did it work?" Derek asked, a smile curving his lips.

Stiles opened his eyes, unable to hold back his own grin. "Yeah."

"What…do you mind if I ask what your anchor is?" Almost as an afterthought, Derek dropped his hands away and took a step back.

"It's probably going to sound stupid, but," Stiles shrugged, mostly unconcerned with what anyone else thought of his anchor. "It's me. My humanity. I know if anything ever happens and I do end up a werewolf, I'll have to find a new anchor, but for now? This frail humanity of mine reminds me of who I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, that was probably cheesy, but I couldn't help myself. JSYK, we are not done with Dr Meiers yet. 
> 
> Next chapter Saturday, of course. Hopefully as timely as this one was? *crosses fingers* 
> 
> Also: for those who didn't understand the reference, [Dr Demento is awesome!](http://www.drdemento.com/dr-bio.html)


	20. Hugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee! So, for those following along, according to my latest (revised) notes, we're about five chapters from the end of this fic. This chapter is a small break for the characters before some hard decisions need to be made on all fronts. Enjoy!

Stiles heard a commotion near the door and looked over to see his dad trying to escort Dr Meiers out in handcuffs. 

"Seriously, dude. Your dad is so bad ass." Scott's voice in his ear made Stiles turn and grin, relief finally free to sweep over him now that it seemed the bad guy—or bad doctor, in this case—was getting her just desserts. 

"Right?!" Wrapping his arms around Scott in a huge hug, he whispered, "Thanks for coming to save us."

"Dude, whatever. You'd already saved yourself. _Again_. That's becoming a bad habit for you."

"Yeah, yeah." Stiles laughed and squeezed Scott harder before releasing him. "Not as bad a one as getting captured in the first place."

"Wait!" Dr Meiers called out, sounding frantic as she tugged against her restraints. "I'll go with you. I swear I will, but… my daughter."

"Shit," Stiles whispered, locking gazes with Derek just as Scott grabbed _him_ in a 'glad you're not dead again' hug. The look of pure shock on Derek's face made Stiles snort at a very inopportune time, but luckily Dr Meiers didn't have super hearing.

"Sarah," she said, locking gazes with Deaton.

He nodded once, slow and measured. "We'll take care of her."

"Swear it. Swear you'll let no harm come to my baby."

Deaton stared at her for a long moment before striding over to Scott and holding out his hand, palm up. "If you would, Alpha McCall?"

Stiles' eyebrows shot up, but he kept quiet. With a wrinkle of his nose, Scott blew out a breath and held one hand up to show his claws growing from his fingertips. When they were fully extended, he put the point of one to Deaton's hand and pressed gently until it pierced the skin. Nodding his thanks, Deaton stepped toward Dr Meiers and pressed the fingers of his other hand into the tiny bit of blood that was pooling in his cupped palm. 

"With blood drawn by my alpha, as emissary of the Hale pack, I swear that we will shelter and watch over your daughter, and will keep her from all external harm." As he finished speaking, the blood wisped into the air in a red vapor cloud and disappeared. "So it is sworn, so it shall be." Sighing, Deaton blinked slowly, almost as if that bit of magic had exhausted him, and said, "I only wish we could ensure that no harm whatever would come to her."

Dr Meiers nodded, murmured a soft thanks, and turned to Stiles' dad. "I'm ready now, Sheriff."

John's lips pursed and he sighed. As if feeling Stiles' gaze, he glanced up over her head at Stiles and smiled grimly. "You'll need to call Melissa or Chris, get one of them to swing by and pick you up."

Walking over to his old man, Stiles clasped his shoulder. "Okay, Dad. We'll call them. You go take care of this, and I'll see you later at the house."

"All right, kiddo. Don't wait up. I might be a while." He turned to lead Dr Meiers from the room before gruffly muttering over his shoulder, "I love you, Stiles."

Stiles had to swallow down the knot that appeared in his throat before he could say, his voice hoarse, "I love you too." He kept watch through the glass doors until Dr Meiers and his dad were completely out of sight.

"Speaking of Mr Argent," Stiles said, clearing his throat and turning back to Scott, who was doing the bro-hug thing with Isaac, "I kinda thought he'd want in on this whole rescue operation."

Scott shook his head. "He stayed with Mom and Cora. With everyone else here, we needed as much protection around Cora as possible."

Derek slumped against the wall, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose as all the stress seemed to leave him at once. "Thank you," he said, his voice soft and unsteady. 

Stiles stepped up beside him, leaning casually against the wall and nudging him with one elbow. "You okay?" he whispered, though that was really more for effect since the only one who couldn't hear them plain as day was Deaton… and after witnessing the whole wispy blood oath thing earlier—which had been creepy as hell—Stiles wasn't even sure about Deaton. Man probably eavesdropped on the entire town in his spare time.

It would explain that smug little smile he always sported.

"Yeah," Derek said, shrugging and drawing Stiles' attention back to him, "it's just been a long ass day."

"Well," Isaac held up a cell phone and wiggled it in the air, "Mom McCall and Mr Argent are on the way. They dropped Cora off at the hospital to pick up Derek's car, and she's right behind them. I guess they figured we might need more than one vehicle."

"Excellent." As if knowing his bed was only a car ride away, a loud yawn overtook Stiles, making his jaw crack loudly in the quiet of the clinic. "God, I could sleep for days."

"Stiles." Deaton's voice cut through Stiles' exhaustion, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Could you show me where they're keeping Dr Meiers' daughter? I'd like to look in on her. Make sure she's comfortable."

Stiles flushed, guilt creeping through him at leaving Sarah on her own for so long. "Yeah, sure. And… shit. Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm assuming you didn't find the other two guys. We still don't know what happened to them." Stiles turned a worried glance on Derek, who was staring at him with a weird look on his face from inches away. Pushing off the wall, Stiles walked toward the door that led to the rest of the clinic and the room where Sarah was. "So someone needs to stay with Derek. We already know he's the one they're really after."

"They could be after anyone at this point." Derek shook his head, eyebrows drawing together in contemplation. "They had plenty of opportunities to take samples from you, me, and Isaac, both here and at the hospital. We can't just assume they won't go after any of us. I'm more concerned about Scott as the alpha. She has nothing from a true alpha."

"I still don't get why they took _me_." Isaac frowned and gestured at the crook of his arm, where a bandage stood out on his skin. He ripped it off, showing clean, unmarked skin underneath it, but there was a tiny spot of old blood on the bandage. "I mean, I was an easy grab, but they took all kinds of blood and stuff from me. So…"

"You are the last of Derek's line," Deaton said calmly. "Perhaps they thought that whatever unique qualities he possesses that allowed him to heal both Cora and Stiles would have been passed down to you." Looking around at them all, he drew a breath and blew it out in a gust. "For now, we all remain on our guard until either Sheriff Stilinski gets more information out of Dr Meiers or the final two accomplices are captured."

"Good idea, but let's go," Stiles said, looking pointedly at the clock on the wall. "Melissa and Mr Argent will be here soon. If the pack wants to talk about everything that's been going on and find the patterns, everyone come to my house for a late breakfast tomorrow. We'll talk it all out then, when we're not dropping from exhaustion." Pushing open the door and holding it, Stiles swept his free arm in a beckoning motion. "Let's go introduce you to Sarah."

~*~

When Stiles and Deaton left, Derek returned to his seat to wait on the arrival of Argent and Scott's mom, letting his head loll back against the wall and his eyes fall closed. It seemed impossible that he would be as tired as he was, after all the sleeping he'd already done that day, but apparently sleeping under the effect of a drug was not as restful as a natural sleep.

Go figure.

It seemed as if his eyes had only been closed for seconds when someone was shaking his shoulder and urging him to wake up. Jerking his head upright, he winced as a sharp pain shot through his neck. He grabbed it and groaned, blinking blearily up at Stiles, whose face softened in sympathy. 

"Hey, everyone's ready to leave. Deaton's staying here with Scott and his mom to look out for Sarah and they're going through all the blood and samples and… I dunno, magical, mystical crap. Between Melissa and Deaton, they should be able to—" Stiles was cut off as Cora shoved him out of the way and grabbed Derek up in a bone-crushing hug.

"Oh my god, you jerk!" she said, pulling back and punching him in the arm. "What the hell? How could you let her kidnap you like that? I was worried!"

"Ow." Derek rolled his eyes at her, rubbing lightly at his arm. "She didn't exactly give me much warning that she was about to shoot me up with knock out drugs, Cora. Why aren't you abusing Stiles? She got him too."

"She did. I'm pretty sure I already have a bruise," Stiles said, rolling up the short sleeve of the t-shirt John had given him. "You were just lucky enough to be asleep when she got here, and she apparently loves you enough to not wake you up."

"Can you love me enough to give us a ride back to the house?" Derek asked. "I'd drive, but I'm honestly afraid I'll fall asleep behind the wheel."

"You aren't driving anywhere; I have your keys and I'm strong enough to break your arm if you try to get them."

"That's how you know it's real love," Stiles snorted. "When they _threaten_ your life to _keep_ you alive."

"Isaac?" Derek looked across the room to where Isaac and Chris Argent were standing, talking quietly to each other. "Want a ride home?"

Isaac shook his head. "Nah, man, I'm gonna hang out here until Melissa's ready to go and get a ride with her."

"I can take him if Melissa doesn't," Chris said. Waving them off, he added, "Go get some rest and try not to get kidnapped again. Or shot."

"Pretty sure that was meant for you," Derek told Stiles, nudging him. 

"That was meant for all of you." Chris pressed his lips together, one hand reaching up to smooth over the gun tucked into a holster on his hip. "Stay safe."

"Jesus," Stiles muttered as he ushered them out of the clinic a few minutes later. "Anyone else get Mad Eye Moody vibes off of him? _Constant Vigilance!_ "

"Who?" Cora asked, and then raised an eyebrow when Stiles just gaped at her.

"I apologize for my sister's lack of education," Derek said, turning to Stiles with a flat look. "But remember, she _was_ raised by wolves."

Stiles pulled open the car door and rested his forearms across the top as he shot an unamused look back at Derek. "Pretty sure even wolves have read Harry Potter."

"South American wolves?" Derek offered, cutting a glance across the top of the car at Cora, who was very pointedly ignoring both of them.

"Your point…?"

Derek shrugged and slid into the front passenger seat, feeling the car shift as Stiles climbed into the back. "You're right. There's no excuse for her. She's no use to us now. We'll have to kill her."

Cora slammed her door shut and turned to flash her eyes at them as she started the car. "Shut up, nerds. I don't need to read books about little boys with magical sticks when _this is my life_."

Slumping over in the backseat and curling his legs up to fit across the bench, Stiles yawned and said, "She's got a good point. Of course, I like to read them for research purposes. All we fucking need is an infestation of inferi or lethifolds in this town."

Derek snorted and leaned his head against the window, letting his eyes slip closed. His last thought before the humming of the wheels on pavement lulled him to sleep was to remember to look up lethifolds when they got home. 

He didn't remember that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up Wednesday.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went kind of ridiculously long. I considered removing the first part, but... Eh. Bonus long chapter, guys. Enjoy!

The interior light turning on woke Stiles, and he opened his eyes, only to squint against the harsh brightness, one hand flying up to shield his face. "Wha?"

"Come on, losers," Cora called through her open door before slamming it shut, after which the light began to slowly dim until it went out completely.

"We're home," Stiles murmured from the back, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face, his eyes gritty and dry. He stared at the house for a long, unblinking minute before he flopped back down on the back seat. "Go on without me. I'll just sleep here."

The _fwip_ -clink of a seatbelt releasing sounded overloud in the car before the light tried to blind Stiles through his eyelids. 

"Hey," Derek's voice was sleep soft, ragged with exhaustion. "We're like twenty feet from a bed with pillows."

"Ohh," Stiles breathed, levering himself onto an elbow, though his eyes remained stubbornly closed. "My pillow."

"I know, I know," Derek said, his grin evident in his tone. "You can't sleep without it."

Untangling himself from the complicated mess he'd made of his own seatbelt, Stiles fumbled for his door handle, refusing to open his eyes. He nearly fell to the pavement when the door was jerked open, only the quick application of steadying hands keeping him in the car.

"Whoa." Derek's breath fanned across his cheek, prompting Stiles to open one eye blearily. "Sorry." Derek's sheepish grin deepened his dimples unfairly. The interior light highlighted the top half of Derek's face, bringing out all the colors in his eyes and darkening the dark shadows under them. 

Shaking himself, Stiles ripped his gaze from Derek's face and made shooing motions until Derek backed away. "Mnngh," Stiles grumbled, pushing himself from the car until he was swaying on his feet in front of Derek. They both turned and looked at the house as Stiles slammed his door shut, cutting off thoughts of just climbing back in and saying fuck it to his pillow.

"Is that whole horror movie tunnel-vision effect happening to you too or just me?" Derek asked, his voice loud in the pressing darkness.

"My driveway has never looked so long."

Derek's shoulder brushed his and suddenly they were leaning against one another, trying to force the other to take some of their weight. "Yeah, just think," Derek said, almost whining, "once we get to the house we still have..."

"Stairs. Fuck." Stiles rolled his head on his neck, digging deep for that well of resolve he'd discovered sometime between finding Laura's body and lighting Peter's ass on fire.

Good times, good times. 

"Okay," he said, snagging the hem of Derek's t-shirt. "We're doing this." 

And they did. Step by shuffling, stumbling step, they made their way to the house, up onto the porch, and through the door, only to fall back against it as one when they were confronted by the stairs.

"Y'know," Stiles murmured off-handedly, "there's a couch in the living room."

"No," Derek said, straightening with a half-crazed glint in his eyes. "We made it this far." So saying, he fell to his knees on the third step and crawled the rest of the way. 

"Shit." Refusing to bow down to the exhaustion cutting through him, Stiles gripped the handrail and basically pulled himself up the stairs. When he got to the top, he saw Derek splayed out on his face, one hand flopping in a 'go around me' gesture.

A short, snuffling laugh overwhelmed Stiles for a minute before he snorted and said, "I can't believe you're the same guy who used to strut around all superior and 'I'm the alpha!'"

"Yeah, yeah." Derek's voice was muffled by the floor before he turned his head and attempted to weakly blow some carpet fibers from his mouth. "My comeuppance. You're witnessing it. Be happy."

"Seriously?" Cora's withering voice made Stiles wince, hunching his shoulders. "You're so lucky you were kidnapped today," she grumbled, grabbing hold of Derek's arm and dragging him into Stiles' bedroom. Seconds later, she was back in the hallway, one perfect, Hale eyebrow arched at him. "Think you can make it those last few steps, or do I need to drag you too?"

"You should walk," Derek called out from the bedroom. "Apparently I have seriously misjudged the pain factor of carpet burn. Jesus, Cora."

Flapping his hands at her, Stiles took a few shaky steps before scowling. "Out of the way. If I run into you now, we're both going down and I'm not getting back up."

Cora turned to the side, sweeping her arm out in a 'go on' gesture as she smirked at him. "You're both such wimps," she muttered as he drew even with her.

Two steps later, he flung himself on the bed, whimpering his gratitude at its heavenly softness. "Maybe," he groaned, inching upward until his head was nestled on his pillow, "but I'm a wimp with a pillow."

Derek snored his approval of that statement.

~*~

Derek stretched out his hand, running one finger lightly over the spiky threads of Stiles' stitches. When he'd finally stretched himself awake, one of the first things he'd noticed—now that the danger had passed—was that at some point Dr Meiers had actually removed _his_ stitches.

The bruises on Stiles' back had faded so that it just looked like his back was smudged with dirt, but the skin under the stitches was still a healing pink. Stiles' skin was pale, with the occasional mole to give it character. His muscles moved easily under his skin as he breathed deeply in sleep. 

Derek sighed and bit at his bottom lip, thinking about the past few days. Hell, the past _week_. So much had happened in such a short period of time that he'd barely had time to stop and consider everything that had changed. Even his discovery of his new body after his transition from werewolf to human had been put on the backburner since they'd discovered Isaac was missing. 

Reaching toward his shoulder, he lightly trailed his fingers over the sensitive ridge of scar tissue there, marvelling at the sensation. There was so much more he needed to learn about this body. So much to learn about his new limitations. 

Maybe it was the extended sleep, or maybe it was a reaction to the traumatic events of the prior day, but suddenly it was as if he couldn't lie still. He wanted to get up. To _run_. The need itched under his skin like he could only remember happening on a full moon. 

It was as if his body was glorying in the very fact of being _alive_.

Which might explain why, for the first time in years, he'd woken with an erection. It had been easy to will away—he wasn't a teenager any longer, after all—but the simple fact of it had been slightly alarming. 

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Derek sat up and poked at Stiles' shoulder. "Stiles!"

"Mrrrmm." Smacking his lips, Stiles wrinkled his nose and started snoring again.

Fighting back a grin, Derek raised his voice and said, "Stiles, wake up!"

"Nnnnuh." Stiles burrowed his face into his pillow, drawing his knees up underneath him until he was half-kneeling on the bed. And still sound asleep.

Spotting a glass of water on the bedside table—no telling how long it had been there—Derek stretched over Stiles to get it and dipped his fingers in it. "I'm warning you, Stiles. If you don't wake up…" He let his voice trail off threateningly.

Stiles just rolled his head to the side and kept right on sleeping.

With a fatalistic shrug of his shoulders, Derek started flicking the water onto Stiles' face. Bolting upright on the bed, Stiles lashed out, knocking the glass from Derek's hand and spilling it all over the place. 

"Oh shit. What the fuck? Why did you…? What…?"

Derek looked down at the huge dark stains on the bedding. "Oops. Yeah, sorry about that."

"You… threw water on me. Why did you throw water on me? Don't you know sleep is sacred, man?"

Pushing down the guilt Derek could feel welling up in him at waking Stiles, he rolled off the bed and said, "Come on, get dressed. You said we'd go running today."

"You woke me up so we could go _running_? What the hell kind of drugs did she _give_ you, anyway?" Stiles asked, looking vaguely horrified.

"Ugh, nothing, this has nothing to do with Dr Meiers. I just want to go running. And it won't hurt you to come with me, so come on. It's already 11:30 and the Preserve trails get overrun in the afternoon."

"Okay, okay. Shit. Do I have time to brush my teeth or…?" Stiles stumbled out of bed, wearing only a pair of boxers, and scratched at his belly as he wandered toward the bathroom.

"Yeah, just make it quick." Derek quickly shucked off his clothing from the night before, almost tripping over the pile Stiles had discarded sometime after they'd gone to bed the previous night. Or maybe he'd taken them off after Derek fell asleep. Whatever.

Grabbing a pair of cut off sweats and a thin t-shirt, Derek was rooting in his bag for a pair of socks when Stiles came back into the room, looking a bit more awake. "Be ready to go when I get out of the bathroom," Derek said, pointing at Stiles, who snapped his teeth at Derek's finger. Chuckling, he wandered off to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, they were hitting the street, their pace slow and easy as they made their way through Stiles' neighborhood toward the Preserve. The burn of his muscles felt amazing, almost the same as it had as a 'wolf. Derek knew he shouldn't be surprised that his body still responded to the push of working out—he'd always known that in a fight, the strong survived. It was why he'd pushed himself so hard, always training, always working out. Always pushing his body to its very limits, even when the limit for his body had been far beyond the capabilities of this new one.

They were about a mile into their run when they crossed over into the Preserve. Stiles waved a hand at a nearby water fountain. "Need some?" he rasped, his breathing deeper and faster as a result of their exercise.

Derek shook his head, but lifted an eyebrow in Stiles' direction. Stiles just stretched his stride out and took off, easily leaping ahead of Derek on the trail. Shaking his head, Derek sped his pace to catch up. 

Three bends of the trail later, they were flat out racing, and Derek could feel his lungs working like a bellows as his body struggled to pull in enough oxygen. A sharp pain speared his side, and he looked down, stumbling as his hand went to search for blood.

"Derek?" Stiles asked, slowing and turning in a wide arc to run back to him. "Derek, what's wrong?"

Pulling his hand up, Derek was puzzled to see no blood on it. But the pain in his side was still there, throbbing and dull. "I just," he gasped, "something…it feels like someone shot me."

"Shit!" Stiles said, cheeks splotchy with exertion. Looking around, he crowded in close to Derek, attempting to shield him with his body. Pushing on his shoulders, he backed Derek into a tree and lifted the hem of his shirt, checking his side. "Are you… Derek, there's nothing here. No blood, no mark." 

"Stiles, it… fuck! It hurts." Curling over the pain, he pressed his hand to it again, wondering at how such a sharp pain could show no visible injury.

The concern on Stiles' face slowly morphed into wide-eyed glee, and suddenly he was bent over, clutching at his sides as he shouted with laughter. "Oh my god, oh my god. You big _baby_ ," he accused, pointing and still laughing, finally falling to the ground, hands hanging between his upraised knees.

Pinching his side, Derek furrowed his eyebrows and huffed. "What do you mean? How am I a big baby?"

Stiles threw his arms out to the side, flopping completely onto his back and looking up through the canopy of trees. "You have a fucking stitch in your side. God, I thought you were going to die again or something."

Easing down onto his knees, then rolling to his back beside Stiles, Derek continued to massage his side and grumbled, "Don't make fun of me. I've never felt anything like that before when I wasn't actively being shot, okay? Or, you know, stabbed through the chest with a giant pole."

"Zzzzt. We don't discuss that." Stiles rolled his head to the side, crunching dried leaves beneath it. "You okay to keep going?"

"Fuck," Derek said, rolling his eyes. "Yeah? I guess?"

"It'll help, actually. You just need to keep going, run through the pain." Stiles pulled his feet up to his chest and rocked forward onto them, springing to a standing position and offering Derek a hand up. "Some water too. You're probably dehydrated. We'll take it easy until we hit the next fountain. Just walk it out."

"Why the hell do humans put themselves through this?" Derek asked, only half joking.

Stiles made hand claws and bared his teeth. "So the werewolves don't eat us."

"Very funny."

Bumping his shoulder, Stiles grinned. "Yeah, I thought so."

They walked along in silence, the leaves overhead dappling the path in front of them with shadows. Finally, the stitch in his side began to ease up and Derek was able to breathe easier. Casting a look sideways under his lashes, Derek said, "So. Not Danny, huh?"

Stiles stumbled, catching himself before he fell to the ground, then shot Derek a stunned look. "Uh? What?"

"You didn't want to talk about it yesterday—"

"At all. I didn't want to talk about it _at all_. Like. Ever." Stiles waved his hands around his head, averting his face as a blush raced up the back of his neck. 

Derek stared at the splotches of color, fascinated. Before, he'd always been too distracted by the scent of embarrassment to notice the hundreds of other little signs of it. Like the stiffness of Stiles' shoulders, or the way his jaw went crooked. Or the minute widening of his eyes and the flaring of his nostrils.

Or the way he kept wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, like he was constantly about to say something, only to decide against it at the last second. 

Deciding to put him out of his misery, Derek started to say, "Stiles, I—"

"Look, it's not what you think," Stiles said, at the exact same time. 

"Oh." And then _ohh_ , because, Jesus, of course it wasn't _Derek_. Blinking at the ground, Derek struggled to move past the vague sense of disappointment that clenched his gut. Honestly, what had he been thinking? He was six years older than Stiles, of course it was someone else.

Obviously not recognizing Derek's inner turmoil, Stiles continued, "I mean, yeah, I would never pass up an opportunity if it presented itself, but dude. I'm not, like, _pining_ or anything. It's just always been a vague what-if, you know? I don't want you to think I've been like... _jerking it_ or anything over you or—"

"Whoa. Stop. Overshare." Derek struggled against a grin as Stiles smacked himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. "I just..." Derek shrugged. "I never noticed. I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable these past few days—"

"Dude, no. I never expected you to notice. I mean," Stiles made a flailing motion that seemed to incorporate the two of them, but Derek had no idea what the point was he was supposed to be making. 

"Three months ago, you were seventeen. No, don't roll your eyes," Derek grumbled when Stiles proceeded to do just that. "I've done the _arrested_ thing enough to know I never want to do it again. Besides...I'm not Kate."

"I know," Stiles said, shrugging and looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry." Silence fell between them but for the sound of their feet hitting the ground. "We're not...this isn't gonna get weird, is it? I mean, you're not going to do the whole avoidance thing now, right? Because—"

"No? Why would I?" Derek stopped in the middle of the trail, hands on his hips as he stared at Stiles, who took another few steps before turning around.

"Right. You shouldn't! Because, I mean, I have kind of a lot of experience at ignoring it, you know? And it's not like I _want_ anything to happen—"

Derek recoiled, taken aback. "You don't?"

Stiles cocked his head with a flat look. "Dude, Derek. I don't know if you're _aware_ , but you've kind of had some huge, life altering events take place in the last month. I kinda think maybe getting your head wrapped around that might take precedence over a silly...whatever. Crush or something." Shrugging, Stiles turned back around and kept walking.

For a second, Derek just stared after him before jogging to catch up. "Wait. So you're concerned about _me_ and my mental health in this equation."

"Uh. Yeah. Kinda _always_ concerned about your mental health," Stiles said dryly.

Derek rolled his eyes and shoved at Stiles, pushing him off the trail. Stiles caught himself against a tree, huffing out a laugh. Looking at him, Derek wondered idly why he _hadn't_ been paying attention. Because he'd been right, the previous night when he'd said Stiles was a good looking guy. 

But more than that, Stiles was one of the only people who had earned and _kept_ Derek's trust. He was selfless and brave, a sarcastic asshole at times, but smart in ways so few people were. And he'd just brushed off his own emotions out of concern for Derek's. 

Maybe...maybe he should start noticing.

Before Derek could really put words to his thoughts, he was stepping off the path after Stiles, moving forward until Stiles was flush against the tree, his eyes widening in shock. "What...?"

"Can I?" Derek murmured, angling his head down the inch that separated them.

"Derek, I think—"

"Shh. Kissing you now." Derek just barely brushed their lips together, one hand coming up to wrap gently around the back of Stiles' neck. It was light, pleasant, the press of soft lips against his own. Pulling back, Derek looked at Stiles, smiling softly, and dropped his hand.

Stiles coughed awkwardly, eyes still wide and somewhat surprised. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You kissed me, dude."

Derek shrugged, stepping backward. "Yeah, it was nice."

"Nice? _Nice?_ Oh my god, no, get back here, asshole." Stiles grabbed Derek, spun them both, and pressed _Derek_ to the tree, cupping his face as he pressed their mouths together firmly, only letting up the pressure long enough to swipe the tip of his tongue over Derek's bottom lip. 

The curl of fingers against his jaw had Derek opening his mouth and that seemed a good invitation for Stiles to lick into it, pressing their bodies together from chest to thigh. Derek's hands slid around Stiles, pulling him in tighter, even as the weight of their bodies uncomfortably forced his shoulder blade into a knot in the tree. 

The kiss was just turning heated, all teeth and tongues, when a loud, pointed cough broke them apart to see the Sheriff staring at them, his eyes so wide the whites showed clearly. "Boys," he said, his voice sounding strangled.

Derek felt an embarrassed blush replace the flush of arousal, and looked to Stiles in desperation. Stiles, of course, just grinned cheekily and said, "Hey, Dad. Fancy meeting you here." Then, seeming to consider the oddity of such a chance encounter, he narrowed his eyes and asked, "Why _are_ you here?"

"I was looking for you," John said, a serious look crossing his face. "Cora told me you were running this way. Deaton's found something and wants to see you both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it only took 21 chapters to earn the pairing tag! Gosh, as this rate, they'll be holding hands by Christmas! *whaps self*
> 
> Okay, you know the drill: next chapter on Saturday!


	22. Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, seriously, I am not a biologist or a medical person. I am making this shit up as I go along and it's probably wince-worthy for anyone who DOES work in sciencey-professions. My ignorance, let me show you it! 
> 
> I'm so sorry.

The closer they got to the parking lot off Elm, the more Stiles wanted to stop, to pull Derek to the side and have a five minute—or five _second_ , it didn't matter—conversation about…about. Them? Stuff? They'd _kissed_ and he needed some sort of confirmation that it wasn't all in his mind. That he hadn't bumped his head and imagined it all or something.

His life involved Druids and werewolves and, some days, more than six impossible things before breakfast. Somehow falling into a fantasy during their run? Not beyond the realm of likelihood.

But the closer they got to the car, the more he noticed it. Noticed how every time he looked over at Derek, Derek was looking back. That every time Stiles' lips quirked—unconsciously, really—Derek's eyebrows would draw a little closer together until it looked like he was caught somewhere between pain and happiness. With the taste of him still lingering on Stiles' lips, that seemed rather unfair, so just before they stepped out of the shade of the Preserve, Stiles reached over, grabbed Derek's hand, and yanked until they were both stopped on the middle of the trail, Stiles' dad getting further away with every step.

"That happened, right?" Stiles asked, eyes dropping to Derek's mouth, watching as his lips, thinned and drawn in a grim line for the last few minutes, softened and parted in surprise.

"That…yeah." Derek cleared his throat, turning to glance after Stiles' dad then quickly back to Stiles. "Yeah."

"Okay." Stiles nodded, a swooping sensation filling his stomach before he grinned brightly and took off running again, tugging on Derek's hand that he still had clutched tightly in his own. "Hurry up, slow poke." He laughed, long and loud, as he heard Derek grumbling behind him.

They stumbled up to his dad's cruiser at nearly the same time as it was unlocked by John, who just turned and raised an eyebrow at Stiles, eyes narrowing in a way that let Stiles know they _would_ be having a conversation about what he'd witnessed later. Stiles didn't care, couldn't care really. Because if his dad had seen it, that was one more person around to convince him it really had happened. To keep convincing him.

Because he had the feeling he'd still be doubting it years from now.

"Shotgun!" Stiles called, hiding a grin at the way Derek's body slumped in relief. Yeah, things were going to be awkward for _him_ for a little while. Shaking his head, Stiles tried to do a movie-perfect slide across the hood of the cruiser, only to come to a jarring halt halfway and have to do a half-scoot, half-roll to get to the other side. 

When he was finally seated in the passenger side, he turned to look at his dad, who was eyeballing Derek through the rear-view mirror. Rolling his eyes, Stiles said, "So, did Deaton mention what he found? Or why he wants us? I was kinda hoping the whole evil experiment thing was behind us."

"I don't know. When he called, he sounded excited, though—"

"Deaton? Excited?" Stiles could feel the skepticism spreading through his body. "Did you make him answer the challenge question?"

"Actually… yeah." John shared a serious look with Stiles, then put on his blinker and pulled smoothly into the light traffic on the main road through town. "I've known the man for years, so I was concerned when suddenly he was acting like a kid at Christmas. Or, what I assume he would have acted like as a kid at Christmas. You know. 'I say, dear parents. This toy is quite wonderful. I am only slightly capable of maintaining my joy.'"

Stiles cracked up then glanced into the backseat to see Derek trying to hide a smile. "Give it up, dude. Dad is fucking hilarious."

"Just trying to figure out why you think Deaton had a bad English accent as a kid," Derek said, surprising laughter out of even John.

"He's way too calm."

"I told you years ago, Dad. That man smokes weed on the regular. No one is that calm around the supernatural shit without outside help." 

John grunted as he turned in to the vet clinic. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't say that to his face. At least not today. You might send him over the edge."

Stiles grinned and hopped out of the car almost before it was in park. He stepped up onto the sidewalk just as Deaton pushed open the front door. Stumbling to a halt, Stiles stared at him, wide-eyed. In all the years he'd known Deaton, through every shit storm he could remember, Deaton had _never_ met them at the door.

Never.

Reaching out as his dad started to edge past him, Stiles grabbed at his sleeve, pulling him to a halt. "You're _sure_ he answered the challenge correctly?"

"Yeah, positive. Come on. It's safe," John said, which wasn't as soothing as it could have been because even _he_ sounded uncertain.

"Hurry, hurry," Deaton said, motioning toward them all. 

Derek stopped beside Stiles, putting one arm out to prevent him from moving. "Why don't you tell us what you've found?" Stiles relaxed against the arm barred across his chest, happy that he wasn't the only one to question this entire situation.

Deaton blinked, appearing taken aback. "I may have found—or rather, Dr Meiers may have found—something that concerns you, Derek."

Stiles' heart paused, then thumped double-time in his chest as a possible reason for Deaton's excitement occurred to him. "Did she…?" He blinked around, lips parted numbly, searching for anyone in the area who might overhear them.

"I can't say for sure," Deaton said, giving him a significant look. "The tests I was able to run were limited, and I remain confused by her system, but. It's possible."

Derek's arm stiffened, pressing Stiles backward. "What's possible? What's going on?"

Gaze following the line of his arm up to Derek's face, Stiles stepped back, cutting off contact. A sharp pain speared through his chest as he did so, but he knew… If what he suspected was right, if Deaton had found what he thought, whatever possibility for _them_ had existed five minutes ago was gone.

"Come inside," Deaton said, his voice softening as Derek turned and frowned at Stiles' withdrawal.

~*~

Derek had never handled confusion well, but he tried to push down the anger than began to simmer when Stiles stepped back, eyes dropping to the ground as he wrapped his arms around himself. "Stiles?"

Stiles looked up, meeting Derek's gaze, and smiled. But it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, let's go in." Relaxing his stance, he reached out and gripped Derek's arm near the elbow. "Hey, don't look like that. If I'm right, it's good news."

"Then why do you look like someone just died?" Derek asked, the words coming out before he'd had a chance to articulate them to himself.

Stiles barked out a laugh, but it was as false as his smile. Sad, even. "No idea what you're talking about, dude."

"You're still a shitty liar," Derek muttered, but turned and walked into the clinic. It was apparently the only way for him to get answers to the questions he didn't even have enough information to ask.

The inside of the clinic was dim, the lights off. Frowning, Derek passed through the mountain ash barrier and walked down the hallway, Stiles right on his heels, until he got to Deaton's office, which was the only room lit in the building. 

"Aren't you usually open right now?" Stiles asked, looking as uncomfortable as Derek felt with the entire situation.

"There's a note on the door," Deaton said dismissively, waving them in and gesturing at the chairs in front of his desk. John was already seated in one, his body weight forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"Alan, do you mind getting to the point? As much as Stiles seems to be able to read your mind, the rest of us are still in the dark."

"Yes, of course." Deaton grabbed a stack of papers off his desk, shuffled through them, and then put them back down. Looking at Derek, he said, "I need you to understand that I could be wrong. I would need more information, would need to run more tests, to be certain. But. When we went through the clinic last night—"

"Not to interrupt," Derek said, suddenly remembering something. "But where's Sarah?"

Deaton waved one hand through the air carelessly. "Melissa had her moved to the hospital. Chris is guarding her room; she's perfectly safe and in a place where they can do more for her condition than I can. I have no experience with human diseases like hers."

"Right. Okay, go on."

Picking up his story, Deaton said, "While we were going through the clinic, we came across the room where they'd held you, Derek. I found the remnants of an experiment. Actually, it looks like it wasn't quite finished, as if the experiment was interrupted."

"It probably was," Stiles said, shrugging. "According to Isaac, Dr Meiers checked in on me several times before I woke up. She may have left her work at non-critical times."

"That seems to be the case. One of the things we discovered was that her mountain ash didn't just keep Isaac in, but it also blocked his scent, which explains why Scott and Cora were unable to locate him. But she also used the time that she had the two of _you_ to her best advantage. She was working directly with blood samples. We found… all sorts of failed experiment data. Saliva, bone marrow, sperm, and tissue samples from unknown donors. She'd only collected saliva and blood from the two of you, and a bit of tissue from Isaac."

"What sort of tissue?" Stiles asked, splotches of color rising on his cheeks as his eyes flashed with anger. Derek reached over, smoothing a hand down his arm until Stiles blew out a breath, closed his eyes, and regained control. A small nod and a quirk of his lips let Derek know he was calm.

"It looks like some cells from his inner cheek, a bit of skin, hair and nails."

"Did she…" John leaned forward, jaw clenching as he gritted out, "You mentioned sperm samples. Did she… _violate_ Isaac?"

"No." Deaton paused then, his voice soft. "From what I found, and Melissa agrees, those samples appear to have been from those who came with her. We can only assume they were given freely. It's not much relief, but it is some."

"Right." John sat back, dragging a hand wearily down his face. "He was kidnapped and locked up and terrorized, but at least she didn't rape him. _God._ "

Deaton cleared his throat and went on pointedly, "I can only assume she'd moved on in her research, because there were several vials of mixed samples. All blood, but the experiments were in different stages of completion. She combined all three of your blood samples in different combinations, and… I can only assume she didn't notice."

"Notice _what_?" Derek asked, impatience thrumming through him. None of this was making any sense to him, and the more Deaton talked, the more the itching under his skin increased. As twitchy as he was getting, though, Stiles was the complete opposite. He'd turned almost statue-like beside Derek, his hands digging into his thighs until his fingers were white.

"In the first two combinations, the cells were degenerating, as we would expect because the human blood weakened Isaac's blood. Red blood cells only last about 48 hours outside of the human body without interference. But when she combined your blood and Stiles' blood… the healing factor was extraordinary. It was what I'd expect from a were's healing factor alone. Easily five times normal human healing factor." Reaching for the stack of papers again, Deaton looked them over, face lighting up. "I think it's possible, Derek, that's the key."

"The key to helping Sarah?" Derek asked, tilting his head and trying to see the papers. It looked like just a bunch of random numbers to him, but he couldn't help thinking the numbers were more clear than Deaton's explanation.

"No," Stiles said, his voice sounding oddly muted. "No, I think he means it's the key to giving you back your wolf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 23 on Wednesday. Only two more after that.


	23. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long day of work was long.

Deaton waved his hand, as if to brush away Stiles' words. The thrill of hope that had shot up Derek's spine instantly faded. Of course, _of course_ he wasn't getting his wolf back. 

"While the possibility of Derek regaining full potential does exist, I don't want to get anyone's hopes up until I've consulted with an expert. But what this means for you, Derek, is that a transfusion of Stiles' blood could give you the same _healing_ factor your had before. Small scrapes would disappear in a blink, larger wounds would heal before they could become life threatening."

Derek felt Stiles slump against him and turned to see him looking like a puppet with its strings cut, his eyes squeezed shut and a pained expression drawing lines in his smooth skin. Reaching over, Derek grabbed the hand that had gone slack in Stiles' lap, threading his fingers through Stiles' until Stiles froze and gently extracted his hand from Derek's grasp. 

Hurt flooded Derek, only increasing when Stiles bumped shoulders with him, eyes flicking over Derek's face but never quite meeting his own.

"What about Stiles?" John asked, shifting forward, and drawing Derek's attention back to the discussion.

"And Sarah," Derek added, because this actually sounded like something that might be good news for her as well.

Something like regret flashed across Deaton's face before he schooled his features. "Unfortunately, while Stiles is a universal blood donor, he can only receive blood transfusions from others with O negative blood types. Derek's blood type is B negative. A backward transfusion would be...harmful." Deaton placed the sheaf of papers he'd been fiddling with to the side and said, "As for Sarah, I just don't know. Her blood type is compatible with Derek's, but I'm not sure what Derek's blood would do to hers. Again," he drew a deep breath and looked directly at John, "I would need to consult an expert."

"Ah." John's voice was soft, but steely. "Let me guess. You need Dr Meiers. That's why you wanted me here."

"Unfortunately, yes. If we have any chance of reversing the effects of Derek's foray into healing or helping Sarah, I will need Dr Meiers' help."

Deaton shared a long, tense look with John before Stiles cut in. "Oh my god, Dad, of course you're gonna do it. If nothing else you'll have to let her go when all of us refuse to press charges. She can help Derek, give him back his wolf. Is there even a question here?"

John stood abruptly, chair skittering back on the polished cement floor. "She kidnapped you, Stiles! I can't just forget what she did and let her go with no justice being served."

"Yeah, you know, I don't think any of us want her getting off scot free, Dad. She's a horrible person! We all agree there. But there are bigger things here than that." Stiles stood and walked over, wrapping his arms around John and hugging him as he said, "If she can heal Derek, don't you think we have to try?"

A flood of warmth at Stiles' obvious concern conflicted with the hurt confusion Derek had been suffering through and left Derek reeling emotionally. _What the hell was going on with Stiles?_

"Okay," John muttered, squeezing Stiles tightly before letting him go. He turned and looked long and hard at Derek before nodding once, resolute. "Okay, I'll be back with her in about an hour. Deaton, do you need Marin as well? If I release Dr Meiers, I have no reason to keep your sister locked up."

Deaton shrugged, his eyes shuttered. "What Marin chooses to do with her freedom is her concern. I can see no use for a psychiatrist in the experiments we'll be running."

"Fine. I'll be back. You two," John pointed at Derek and Stiles, his expression grim, "stay here."

As soon as the office door closed behind John, Derek said, "Do you need us right this minute?"

Deaton waved him off, already paging through his papers again. "I'll need some blood samples eventually, but nothing right this minute."

"Great. Stiles and I will be down the hall, then." Derek stood and grabbed Stiles' arm, pulling him into the hallway and down the corridor. When they were finally out of hearing range, Derek whirled toward Stiles, who was still blinking in surprise at their hasty exit from the office. "What's going on?" Derek asked, stepping toward Stiles, who backed quickly away. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?" Stiles asked, pasting a bright, _fake_ grin on his face.

"Are you angry—"

"No!" Stiles' eyes widened as his mouth pulled down in something like sorrow.   
His gaze skittered around the room, not landing on any one thing... Like Derek.

"Because it feels like you are. Like I fucked up or something, but I haven't _done_ anything." Grasping at straws, Derek shoved his hand through his hair and asked, "Are you upset about Dr Meiers?"

Stiles was nodding before the full question was even out of Derek's mouth, but his movements were jerky, off kilter. "A little, yeah. Dad's right; she _should_ be rotting in jail. Even knowing she could help you, I can't quite let that go. Because she hurt you. What she did to you—"

"I wasn't the only one there. She took you and Isaac too. But... That can't be what this is about because you shut down before we knew about her. So it has to be me. Something _I_ did." Bile filled his mouth when he considered maybe his actions in the Preserve hadn't been welcome. "I thought you..." He swallowed roughly and had to force the words past his lips. "Did I force myself on you today?"

"What?! Oh my god. No! Derek." Stiles' head snapped up and he was in front of Derek in an instant, cupping his cheeks, grip firm, and staring at him with eyes gone hard and serious. "Never. You would never do that. You are not _her_. You could never be... that."

"Then what did I do?" Derek's words came out plaintive, revealing too much of the hurt lingering inside him.

Stiles' gaze slid to the side, and he opened and closed his mouth twice before swallowing. When he just shrugged and shook his head in answer, a mumbled, "nothing" dropping from his lips, Derek grabbed his shoulders, tightening his fingers instead of giving Stiles the rough shake he was aching to supply. 

"What, then? Are you...?" Derek clenched his jaw, his hands slipping down Stiles' arms as his fingers went numb with some combination of shock and horror. "Is it because you think the experiment will work? You said... Stiles, you said, the other night, you said you'd date a werewolf. Were you," he stumbled back a step, "were you lying?"

Stiles' mouth dropped open and his eyes flared wide, eyebrows drawing down. "Are you seriously suggesting...?" He brought a hand up near his chest, slowly curling his fingers into a tight fist and biting his lips together as he breathed deeply. He blinked twice and when he spoke, his voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "If this works, and I'm pretty sure it's going to, things will go back to the way they were. I know that; I'm not an idiot."

"Well, I must be because I'm getting whiplash here. I don't get it. I don't see what you see. I don't understand." Derek couldn't keep the bewilderment from his voice.

"We kissed, Derek. That's it. I'm not stupid enough to think five minutes in the Preserve, romantic as it was, is going to change... anything." He dropped his hand back to his side, posture loose, face calm, a tiny, weary smile tilting up one corner of his mouth. 

"Wow, that... Okay." It was like having a glass of ice water thrown in his face. The kisses that had meant something to _him_ meant so little to Stiles that he could so easily dismiss them. "I'm sorry. I had no idea." Derek stumbled back a step, only to come up short when Stiles let out an aggravated sigh and grabbed him.

"Oh, come on! That's not what I mean. Of course I want all the...everything. I'm just a realist, okay?" Stiles jaw worked for a second before he relaxed, his face softening as he shifted his grip, sliding one hand up to Derek's shoulder and squeezing. "Shit! I'm sorry. I know I'm being selfish, bringing down the mood. This is the best news, and I'm being a self-absorbed ass. I shouldn't be thinking about anything but how happy I am for you. And Derek, I _am_. I am so fucking happy for you that you're potentially getting this huge part of your life back." His eyes shined, practically _glowed_ with sincerity. There was no doubt in Derek's mind that Stiles was filled with joy for him.

"Then why are you pulling away? I don't... Stiles, I don't know what happened. I can't read your mind. Hell, I can barely follow your thoughts when you're actually sharing them half the time." Derek quirked his lips to take the sting out. "You're the smart one, right? You're the one who sees all the threads. So tell me what's going on."

Stiles closed his eyes, and again, those pained lines appeared around his mouth. "When you get it all back, the super strength and the super healing and smelling and sight and..." His eyelids slowly lifted, and Derek could _see_ the resignation there. "I'll just be another thing in the background, getting in the way. We'll go back to being friends, and you'll go back to being that unattainable guy. And it's fine. It is. I'm used to it. I just, for a minute..." He shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling on a soft sigh. "For a minute you were right there. You _saw_ me. And it was amazing, and I am really fucking grateful to know what that's like. But soon enough that's going to go away, and all of this normal, boring sanity will get overwhelmed with the _super_ again. So, yeah. I'm backing out now before it hurts." Stiles' lips twisted into a pained little smile, and he stepped back, dropping his hand away. "Like ripping off a bandaid."

Derek shook his head, a tight knot of anger building up in the pit of his stomach. "You know, there are a lot of words to describe you, Stiles. None of them are 'normal,' 'boring,' or 'sane.'" He reached out, fisting his hand in the front of Stiles' shirt and used that hold to drag him closer, until Stiles' face was so close to his own he could make out the individual flecks of color in Stiles' eyes. 

"You're infuriating." Unable to help himself, Derek slanted his head and placed a nipping kiss on Stiles' mouth, drawing a tiny sound from him. 

"You're exasperating." Emotions that had been stirring up all day came roaring out, and Derek devoured Stiles' mouth with his own until Stiles was backed against a wall, one of Derek's legs sliding between his thighs, Derek's hands holding Stiles tight to the wall. No way was he letting Stiles run now.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmured, the words issuing directly into Stiles' open, panting mouth. 

"You scare the hell out of me." Derek backed off a few inches, gaze raking over Stiles' face, lingering on the red patches around his mouth where Derek's scruff had scratched his skin. "You never think about the risk to yourself. Too worried about everyone else."

"Fuck," Stiles gasped, eyes completely glazed over. It was obvious he was no longer listening, just fighting against Derek's hold to get closer. So Derek let him.

He could be magnanimous with the little idiot.

Derek buried his face in Stiles' throat, sucking gentle kisses there until Stiles' breathing was all choked sobs of nothing but Derek's name. "You've never belonged in the background. _Never_."

Lifting his head, Derek cupped Stiles' jaw, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Stiles' cheekbone, until Stiles' eyes cleared. "And if you think I'm going to somehow forget _this,_ forget the way you taste, and the way you feel, and how fucking _safe_ I feel when I'm with you? Then you're not as smart as I thought you were."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters to get more kisses, whoo!
> 
> Chapter 24 on Saturday!!


	24. Filters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, fifty thousand words ago, I really saw this fic earning its M rating. Hell, _five_ thousand words ago, I was still holding out hope.
> 
> But here I sit, with only one chapter left in this fic, and there's just no way to bump it out of the T-zone without getting ridiculous. So... I'm thinking, since I have a few alternate chapters to throw into this universe (as well as an alternate ending!), I will give you all a sweet little one-shot from further along the story time-line, which DOES earn an M rating.
> 
> Deal?

Stiles sat on a hard, uncomfortable leather couch in Deaton's waiting area, Derek's head in his lap as they waited for his dad to return with Dr Meiers. He took deep, calming breaths, trying to calm his body down from their intensely emotional—and highly arousing—conversation. 

With tongue.

A conversation with _tongue_. Derek's, to be precise. On his throat, to be even more precise. 

Stiles shifted his hips, hissing when Derek turned his head to look at him questioningly. "Just," he gritted out between clenched teeth, "don't move like that."

Derek smirked, rolling his head lightly back and forth. "Like what?" he asked, with what would have been an innocent expression on _anyone_ else.

"Asshole," Stiles grumbled. He reached down and moved a lock of Derek's hair from where it lay gently curled in the middle of his forehead. Derek didn't need any more fuel for his Superman complex, thanks. Chewing on his bottom lip, Stiles rubbed the hair between his thumb and forefinger as he forced his thoughts from sexy times to everything that had transpired in the past few days. In the past _hour_. 

Their lives really did move far too fast sometimes.

"Hey, so now that I'm over my emotional constipation, let's talk about yours." When Derek just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, Stiles rolled his eyes and said, "How are you doing with this whole… _everything_?"

Derek shifted his gaze to the ceiling and shrugged. "I'm not really doing anything with it. I mean, I know you think it's a foregone conclusion, but I'm a bit more cautious than you. To which every single event in our shared history can attest."

Stiles flicked his nose, but didn't disagree… or pull his hand away when Derek caught his finger in a loose grip and dragged it down to his mouth, lightly biting it in retaliation. 

"It doesn't feel real. If I get the healing back, that'll be nice, but I'm not really holding out hope for being able to shift again. If I do? Fantastic. But it seems like setting myself up for a fall to even hope for it. I mean, according to Dr Meiers, she's been working on this for years, right?"

"Well, right, but…" Stiles tilted his head as he tried to decide how to put his thoughts into words. "This situation is kind of unique. She wasn't exactly looking for ways to heal werewolves who've lost their power to shift due to saving some puny human's life."

"Not so much with the puny," Derek growled, narrowing his eyes at Stiles. "But still, that just goes to show that this whole giving me back my wolf thing? Seems wildly premature. I mean, if she's been looking for a way to cure her daughter, something that you'd think would be incredibly important and lend some urgency to what she's doing, for _years_ , the odds of Deaton finding a 'cure' or whatever for me in a single night? Seems a bit preposterous."

"Wow, Derek, first of all? You might be the single most pessimistic person I've ever met. And I've met _me_. Second, have you actually been paying attention to our lives? We don't just defy the odds; we shatter them on a weekly basis." Stiles waved a hand to indicate their relative positions to each other in emphasis.

Derek's mouth quirked. "I guess right now, I'm just hoping that whatever is going on with our blood and whatnot ends up helping Sarah."

Scritching his fingers through the scruff on Derek's chin, Stiles let his eyes go unfocused as he said, "I find it hard to believe sometimes how ridiculously selfless you are. I mean, everything that's going on, and you're the only one who never seems to forget, even for a second, about Sarah."

Derek shrugged again, closing his eyes. "I'm far from selfless, Stiles. It's just that, if this doesn't help her? Then everything we've been through was pointless."

"Not if it gets you back your wolf."

"No, I mean. Think about it." Derek's hands waved around as his eyes popped open, glinting with excitement. "If this works, we can draw connecting lines from Cora's head injury to now. It's the entire sequence of events, working together, to get to this exact moment, to help this specific little girl. You could even go further back to the first time a man felt the pull of the moon and turned into a wolf. I mean…" Derek's voice trailed off as he caught the look of surprise Stiles was sure was written across his face. 

"Shut up," Derek grumbled, even though Stiles hadn't actually opened his mouth. His cheeks darkened with a flush that extended to the tips of his ears. "I minored in Philosophy. I'm allowed to get excited about the possible convergence of random events."

"Just when I think I know everything about you," Stiles teased, batting his eyelashes. 

The door opened just then, and they both looked over to see Dr Meiers being escorted into the clinic with her arm held tight in John's grasp. John's narrow-eyed gaze took in their closeness, but he just rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he directed Dr Meiers past the counter and back into the darkened building.

"He's going to want to have a conversation with me, isn't he?" The corners of Derek's mouth turned down slightly, and Stiles felt a pang of something uncomfortable clench in his chest.

"Well, I mean. You don't have to—"

This time, it was Derek flicking _his_ nose. "No. Do not start that shit again. I am more than willing to sit through an uncomfortable conversation while he lovingly fondles his revolver. Now, come on," he said, swinging his legs from the arm of the couch onto the floor and sitting up in one smooth motion. "I have the feeling they're going to be needing us soon."

"Oh man," Stiles muttered, nose wrinkling as a distressing thought occurred to him. "They're going to want to stick us with needles again."

"Poor baby," Derek mocked, his voice hitting a soothing, baby-talk register. "Want me to hold your hand?"

Stiles forced his eyes impossibly wide. "Would you?" he breathed, leaning toward Derek and biting helplessly at his bottom lip.

When Derek just blinked wordlessly, his eyes glazing over as they dropped to focus on Stiles' mouth, Stiles snorted and stepped around him. "Nice to know you're still an asshole."

"Hey, I thought I was selfless."

"Fine," Stiles allowed, waving his hand regally and smacking it painfully against the edge of the door as he passed through it. Wincing he pulled it to his chest and muttered, "You're a selfless asshole."

~*~

Derek caught Stiles' hand as they stepped into the office, slanting a look at John as he threaded their fingers together. He knew he was pushing it, but he did _not_ want to allow any more doubts to find room in Stiles' overactive mind. He had no illusions about this relationship.

Stiles was eighteen, and for everything he'd been through in the past few years, he still had a lot of living to do. They might only last a month together before deciding that this thing between them worked better on a friendship level. Derek was prepared for that, even if it caused a churning in his gut.

But what he wasn't prepared for, what he would not allow if he had any say in it at all—and he liked to think he did—was it to be dismissed out of hand. He might only have discovered the possibility of this _thing_ in the past twenty four hours, but he couldn't remember the last time something in his life had felt this… right. Fitting. He squeezed Stiles' hand gently and lifted his chin in John's direction. 

He wanted this enough to fight for it. Even if that meant fighting people he respected. Or fighting a stubbornly distrusting Stiles.

"You good, Stiles?" John asked, lips pursing.

Derek watched as Stiles stared at his father for a few seconds before lifting his shoulders with a grin. "Yep, peachy keen."

"Good to hear. Looks like your face fell into some sandpaper while I was gone."

Derek had to physically turn away then, unable to stop a smug grin from tugging at his mouth. Stiles' short, bitten-off nails dug into the skin of his hand and he looked up to see a splotchy blush blooming across his cheeks. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, voice strangled. "You'd be surprised at the amount of rough edges we had to smooth over while you were out."

"Gentlemen." Deaton interrupted the increasingly awkward atmosphere that was developing in his office with a polite cough. "Donna and I have a few tests we'd like to run on the two of you," he pointed to Derek and Stiles, as if anyone in the room was confused as to whom he might be referring. "If they succeed, we see no reason not to immediately move toward a… resolution."

Derek's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. You mean… today? You want to do the transfusion _today_?"

Dr Meiers cleared her throat lightly, drawing his attention. "When Stiles lost control with me yesterday—"

Derek whipped around to look at Stiles, who was just nodding along, his eyes narrowed on Dr Meiers as his grip on Derek's hand tightened.

"—I could feel that the…" Dr Meiers waved her hand around, face contorting into different expressions as she obviously searched for a word, " _magic_ , for lack of a better term, was alien. In other words, not his own. It was something inside of him that didn't belong to him."

"After a brief consultation, we think that when you healed Stiles, when you poured your ability to heal into him, you also pushed the core of your magic into him."

"But," Derek frowned, shaking his head, "I'm not magic."

"It's not magic as you'd think of it, as you see when we," Deaton indicated Dr Meiers and himself, "manipulate mountain ash, for example. But the ability to shift is, at its heart, the same thing. To shift from man to wolf, even a beta shift, requires a form of magic. _That_ is what we think has been transferred into Stiles. It's what overwhelms him during moments of intense emotion."

"Not to rain on your magical parade, but it only happens when I'm angry." Stiles looked around the room, meeting everyone's eyes. "I mean, that's why we all decided it was Derek's anger, his anchor, that I was feeling, right? Otherwise, why isn't _he_ feeling that anger anymore? And why don't I feel it when I'm not emotional? I mean, if it's alien, it should be bouncing around inside me all the time."

"I think _that_ can be explained by your history of panic attacks. You've trained yourself to channel distressing emotions into nervous energy and sarcasm so as not to trigger a panic attack. But you've always been able to embrace anger because it's never caused you to panic. By allowing _that_ emotion free rein, the magic that wants to transform your body into a wolf you don't have access to rides the anger, feeding it until it overwhelms you. And the magic _is_ in you at all times. You simply don't feel it until it converges. Just like the werewolves don't feel it until they call upon it to activate a shift. To put it simply, the magic thinks your anger is you attempting to activate a shift. It's trying to aid you in that goal."

When Stiles glanced disbelievingly at John, John just threw his hands into the air. "Don't look at me! I'm still waiting to wake up and realize the whole werewolf thing was all a weird, pizza-induced dream."

Derek choked back a laugh, then sobered. "And what does this mean for Sarah?" Looking at Dr Meiers, he said, "I know you have little to no interest in me regaining my ability to shift, so how does this help Sarah, who _is_ your concern?"

"Your healing factor being stimulated by Stiles' blood. I need to see it in action. There may be some key to unlocking the reverse process, wolf to human. It's like having the answer to a complicated math problem. I can't find the solution myself; I've tried. But perhaps by having access to the answer, I may be able to create a solution by working at it backward."

"Ugh, math," Stiles muttered. Then, releasing Derek's hand, he clapped his own together. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get this show on the road!"

~*~

An hour later, Donna pushed back from her microscope, despair filling her. Grasping the edge of the table, she used it to help her climb to her feet and turned to Deaton, who seemed unnaturally calm and unruffled. "I can confirm your findings," she said, her voice little more than a harsh whisper.

Hale stepped forward from where he'd been quietly talking with the Stilinski boy, a questioning look on his face. "What findings?"

"The efficacy of the healing factor only lasts for a bit more than twenty three minutes from the time Stiles' blood is added to yours." Donna lifted her chin, refusing to let them see her fall apart. 

"What happens after twenty three minutes?" the Sheriff asked, thumbs hooked into his belt.

"The healing factor returns to normal in human blood."

"So Derek _won't_ get his wolf back?" Stiles asked, fingers wrapping around Hale's wrist and expression drawing down with something like grief. 

"No!" Deaton hurried to explain. "No, with the proper technique, Derek's magic should return. A simple transfusion, in the right setting, will see to that. It'll require some effort from you, Stiles, to ensure that you concentrate on pushing out his magic when we withdraw the blood from you, but this isn't anything you aren't at least somewhat familiar with. If nothing else, we can let you rail at me again, and siphon off the magic as you try to wring my neck." Deaton's smile was filled with sharp edges.

"So it's Sarah, then." Hale looked from Deaton to Donna, his eyes shadowed. "It's not going to help her?"

"If we wait for the magic to take hold of you, we've lost the window of opportunity to heal Sarah. But the magic _must_ pass through you to be infiltrated into your blood. It's…" Donna shook her head. There was no way to explain this in layman's terms.

"What about… dialysis?" Stiles suggested, waving his hands in an arc. "You said 'infiltrated' and it made me think… blood filtering. I mean, if they're hooked together—Derek and Sarah—with Derek's blood continually pumping into Sarah, and hers into him on a loop, wouldn't his body _filter_ the cancer from her blood? Or at least, keep his healing factor in her long enough to heal her body?"

"But the clock starts the moment _your_ blood enters his bloodstream—"

"Then hook _me_ into the loop. My blood delivered fresh to Derek and his to her. I mean, it'll still have to pass through Derek, but once the magic hits him…" Stiles looked at the ceiling, as if searching for answers there. "It just seems like what we're really doing here is getting the wolf mojo back in Derek, so he can do the healing thing again. So if he's concentrating on healing Sarah as soon as my blood hits his bloodstream, if he can direct it at her, won't that work?"

Donna felt a wave of excitement roll over her. It was an idea she'd never entertained, but… if they timed it properly… 

"If we do that," Deaton said, his voice soft, "the chance of Derek regaining his ability to shift decreases exponentially."

Hale smiled, and it was a small, determined thing. "Nothing comes without a price, Deaton. Remember?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started on a Wednesday and will end on one. Heh, full circle. Guys, I can't begin to tell you how simultaneously thrilled and terrified I am for this fic to end.


	25. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many people to whom I owe thanks, but this chapter? This is for those of y'all who've been patiently following this story from the beginning, leaving me the most thought-provoking comments that often took my imagination—and therefore the fic itself—off in an entirely new direction.
> 
> I had originally planned for this fic to be 10k or less. It's more than five times that now, and much better for your input. 
> 
> Thank you!

"Okay, good, everyone's here. Are you all clear about the procedure?" Deaton asked.

Stiles snorted and said, "Yeah, your evil sister is going to hypnotize me—"

"Put you into a meditative trance-state, if I'm able," Ms Morrell interjected smoothly, staring blankly across the room at Stiles from her position next to Dr Meiers. Melissa McCall and Cora were on the opposite side of the room, with the rest of the pack spread out in between… mostly to keep _Melissa_ from ripping into Dr Meiers with her bare hands.

Cora was showing rather un-Hale-like restraint, only growling softly and flashing her eyes. Melissa appeared ready to spit fire and tear out throats. 

"At which point, you're going to direct Stiles to release the kraken—"

"Good one, Scotty," Stiles called out, grinning widely and slow-clapping.

"And that goes into Derek, right?" Isaac said, actually half-raising his hand. "So why did you need us, exactly?"

Deaton stepped forward, crossing his arms and gaining everyone's attention just with his mere presence. "I need you all to understand that what we're doing here—everything about this situation, actually—is completely untested. We have no idea what is going to happen once Derek's 'magic' is transferred from Stiles back into his body. I asked the pack to be here because it may be that he'll need the comfort of your presence to keep control. He may have perfect control and not need you, or he may not be able to call up his wolf or it may bypass him completely and enter Sarah. We just have no idea. I like to plan for the worst case scenario. In this case, that would be Derek going full shift Alpha with no pack. A feral omega Alpha wolf."

"But...he's not an Alpha?" Cora frowned, looking around at everyone else, as if inviting them to share in her confusion.

"He wasn't when he lost his ability to shift, but he _has been_ an Alpha in the past. We can't afford to take any chances."

"How risky is this for Derek?" Stiles asked, sliding his hand down Derek's forearm and linking their fingers. He didn't miss the way Scott's eyebrows shot up; with a roll of his eyes, he shrugged and tightened his grip. They could talk about new developments in Stiles' love life later. _After_ they all made it through the next few hours.

"Again, we have no idea."

Stiles narrowed his eyes, feeling the anger begin to shift around inside his body. Or 'the magic'… whatever. "Why don't you best guess it for us, then?"

"If I may?" Dr Meiers said, speaking for the first time since the pack had arrived. "Medically, the procedure is sound. It's a simple blood transfusion between viable recipients. Magically… Dr Deaton is correct. This is a procedure that's never been attempted in recorded history. The question of how the magic will react is one that we just can't answer with any sort of accuracy."

"Melissa?" Stiles' dad asked, his expression grim. "I trust you more than I do those two. What do you think?"

Wrapping her arms around her waist, Melissa spent another few seconds glaring at Dr Meiers before she said, speaking through stiff lips, "The transfusion process is easy enough. Stiles will be fine. It will be the same as if he were to donate blood at a blood bank. According to Dr Deaton, a pint should be more than enough to transfer whatever it is that needs to be transferred from Stiles to Derek. What _I'm_ most concerned about is this blood filtering you're proposing."

Melissa stepped up beside Scott, settling under the arm he threw over her shoulders. "Scott told me that when he was turned, it took the entire night for his bite to heal. So even if this magic thing _works_ , there's the possibility that we're just going to be pumping blood between Derek and Sarah to no effect. And… how long did you say it was we had? Thirty minutes? You can't push an entire body's amount of blood from one person to another in that amount of time without slicing into major arteries. You could end up killing them both—Sarah _and_ Derek—with this idiotic plan."

"But if we don't do this," Derek said, his voice soft, "then Sarah will die anyway." 

Stiles followed the path of Derek's gaze to the bed where Sarah lay, her tiny, unconscious form a too-small lump under the blankets of her bed. 

"Derek," Melissa said, coming toward them and placing her hand beseechingly on Derek's shoulder. "You don't owe them anything. She's a precious little girl, I understand that, but her life is not more important than yours. It scares me to think what could happen to you if we go through with this."

Derek's smile was a hesitant thing, but his voice was strong and sure when he spoke. "There is no if for me. As long as Stiles is willing to shift my beta power back to me—"

Stiles jiggled their hands, narrowing his eyes at Derek for doubting him. "Of course. I told you before if there was any way to give it back to you I would. I just hate that you're getting the anger back with it."

"We discussed this, Stiles. His anger isn't inside you—"

Cutting Deaton off with a loud, fake cough of _bullshit_ , Stiles said, "Sorry, not listening to the man who _just_ finished telling us he doesn't have a clue how this works. It _feels_ like anger, okay? As long as I can feel it and you can't? I'm going with what I feel."

"Well, then," Melissa said, all brisk efficiency. "If it's all decided, then there's no time like the present. Stiles, honey, you're going to need to get onto that bed; Derek, you're here." She gestured at the beds that had been set up. 

After climbing into the bed, Stiles noticed Dr Meiers coming toward him. Apparently, Melissa did too, because she turned with a hissed, " _You_ can stay back. I will die before I let you touch a hair on either of these boys again. If you need to make yourself useful, get your daughter prepped."

Melissa bustled around, hooking Stiles and Derek up to all sorts of machines before she pulled out a thin needle and approached Stiles with it. "Sweetheart, I know you hate needles," she started before Stiles interrupted her with a grim smile.

"I'm fine," he muttered, looking across the distance between Derek and himself to see if there was any possibility of getting his hand held. Derek _had_ offered, after all. 

Apparently thinking along the same lines as him, Derek stretched his hand out, reaching for Stiles, who leaned half out of the bed to reach him. Melissa took this all in with a raised eyebrow before turning to John, who just shrugged. "He didn't tell me, either. I got to find out the hard way."

"Hmmph." Melissa narrowed her eyes at Stiles before nudging him back onto the bed, looking heartlessly on as that broke Stiles and Derek's hands apart. An alcohol wipe and a gauze pad made brief appearances before she put the needle to his skin. "Okay, there's going to be a little stick—" she said before gently sliding the needle into his vein. 

Even though it was almost painless, the very sight of it had Stiles feeling half-sick, so he turned to watch the activity in the rest of the room. Cora had walked up to stand at the foot of Derek's bed, one hand wrapped around his foot. Isaac and Scott were near Derek's head—probably in case he did shift and they were needed to hold him down. Stiles' dad was standing back, just watching everything happen, one hand casually resting on his gun.

"Hey," Stiles called, craning his head back toward Scott. "Where're Allison and Chris?"

"Outside watching the place. We're pretty sure the two goons with Dr Meiers were called back to Louisiana, but we're not going to take any chances."

"Oh. Good," Stiles started to say before he was interrupted by a bark of laughter from Derek. "What?"

"It's just," Derek said, waving the arm around that Melissa wasn't sticking a needle into, " _hunters_ are outside protecting us— _me_ —during a procedure which has the possibility of turning me back into a wolf. A _Hale_ wolf."

"Yeah, yeah," Cora said, reaching over to grab Derek's foot. "Times, they sure are a-changing."

"Are we all going to sing Kumbayah, or are we going to get this done?" Isaac asked, though Stiles didn't miss how his lips were twitching. 

"Hey, you're welcome to hook yourself up in this mess," Stiles said, indicating the bizarre configuration of tubes and needles and wires connecting him to Derek and Derek to Sarah.

"Yeah, no thanks," Isaac said, holding up his hands and shaking his head even as Melissa stepped back, a worried look on her face.

"All right, then," she muttered, looking over to Deaton, who gestured for Ms Morrell to approach. 

As she drew closer, though, Cora started growling again, making Derek kick out at her. "Hey, enough. Don't distract her."

Stiles drew three deep breaths and turned his gaze to Ms Morrell, who was standing beside his bed, looking down at him like some sort of bug under a microscope. "Stiles, I want you to count backward from twenty. I'm going to trace runes on your arm with my finger. There will be no permanent or even temporary marks, but they will draw the magic inside you to the surface like a magnet. I just want you to concentrate on counting, all right?"

"Are we…" Stiles broke off, nervousness swamping him. He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and tried again. "Is everyone set?"

"Yes. We're ready to start now."

"Is there some way I can keep the anger?" Stiles asked, trying to pitch his voice soft enough that only she—and the werewolves—would hear.

She just smiled at him and told him again to start counting backward, though she threw in a small wink at the end. Holding onto that image, Stiles started. "Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…" Her fingers began to slide lightly over his forearm, making him break out in goosebumps and almost causing him to lose count. 

When he reached fifteen, Ms Morrell leaned over, her face coming closer and closer to his own as she said, her voice soft and soothing, "We're going to start the transfer now, Stiles. Just relax. Keep counting. Focus on my voice, on the numbers. Ten now, right? Nine?"

Stiles thought he nodded, but couldn't be sure, could only focus on the gentle flick of her fingers against his skin as he continued counting down. Suddenly, it felt like his arm was swelling, as if it were a balloon filling up with air. As if it were ready to pop.

The sensation wasn't painful, but it was unnerving enough to sharpen his senses, pull him out of the floaty state he'd been in. "What—?"

"Shh, it's all right. It's the magic."

Stiles settled back, turning his head to see that Derek was facing him. When their eyes locked, the swollen feeling in his arm rushed out, following the blood that was already snaking down the line and into Derek's body. 

As soon as his mental countdown reached zero, Derek's eyes flared wide, then squeezed shut as his body bowed off the bed, a pained noise bursting from his mouth.

~*~

Derek didn't know if it was possible, but it was as if he could feel Stiles' blood entering him. It felt warmer than his own, especially as it first poured up the thin plastic tube taped to his skin and into his arm. He heard Morrell and Stiles speaking to each other, but couldn't make out distinct words.

Then, Stiles turned his head, his bright eyes locking with Derek's own. For just a few seconds, they stared at each other before pain such as Derek had never known seemed to crawl inside his body, under his skin. It was razor sharp and throbbing and dull. It was everywhere and nowhere. It felt like it was going to rip him apart from the inside.

He didn't remember closing his eyes, didn't remember his own voice shouting harshly. All he could feel was the pain, and then hands holding him down, keeping him still. And it hurt.

 _Oh,_ did it hurt. 

Derek writhed on his bed, trying not to flail his arms even as his whole body twisted and turned, seeking an escape from the poison burning through all of his veins and arteries. It went on and on, until all he could see was a blurred darkness and all he could taste was his own blood.

He was pretty sure he'd bitten through his lip at some point.

"What's wrong with him?" he heard someone shout, and part of him recognized the voice as Stiles'. 

He wanted to reassure Stiles, let him know he would be fine… but he didn't know that. Didn't know anything, really, other than he half wished he could die. Because this pain? It was unreal. It was… it was…

Turning his head, he forced his eyes open past the screaming pain inside to see Sarah's body frozen in a tight clench even as it nearly vibrated her whole bed. 

"She's seizing!" Melissa called out, even as Dr Meiers and Deaton began rushing around the bed, doing… things. Derek had no idea what.

"Nineteen minutes remaining," Deaton called out, looking up at the clock even as he grabbed Sarah's wrist, pressing two fingers to her pulse.

Derek wanted to point out the heart rate monitor she was hooked to, but he couldn't force his mouth open long enough to do so. His own teeth were clenched so tightly together he wondered if he'd end up grinding them all to dust before the time limit was up.

It seemed unreal that they'd only been doing this for four minutes. Pain like this should take at least several _hours_ to develop. 

He watched through clouded eyes as the three professionals rushed around Sarah's bed. With a great deal of effort, Derek rolled his eyes up to focus on Scott, who was still holding down his shoulders, trying to keep Derek from pulling out his IV lines or otherwise injuring himself. Scott's face was lined in worry as he stared back at Derek.

"Help her," he whispered, his voice so hoarse he wondered exactly how bad his screams had been. How bad they still were. 

Scott looked down at him, uncomprehending for a moment. Then, his face cleared, and he smiled sheepishly down at Derek. "Sorry, man, I didn't think…" Even before he finished speaking, black lines were snaking up Scott's arms, and Derek went limp as the pain was drawn from him.

Shaking his head, he arched up, trying to twist out of Scott's grasp. "Not me! Go help Sarah. Help _her_."

"Isaac," Scott said, his voice a harsh order. 

"Yeah, I got it." Isaac's hands left Derek's shoulders and he stepped quickly over to Sarah's bed as Cora replaced him, her hands gripping Derek and holding him down, even though he didn't actually need it anymore.

Isaac hissed loudly through his teeth even as Sarah's body slumped, boneless, to the mattress. "Is she…?" His voice was a low growl, and Derek could see that he'd partially shifted, his eyes glowing a bright gold even as he took Sarah's pain.

"Her heart rate is levelling out," Melissa said, watching the monitor. "Blood oxygen level is still low, but climbing. Good job, boys."

"Twelve minutes," Deaton called out.

Derek's eyelids grew heavy and he was about to just close them and go to sleep when he felt something brush against his hand. Forcing his eyelids back open, he turned his head to see Stiles stretching his hand out toward him, bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked, but his voice sounded far off. Hazy and distant.

Derek just smiled as he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him away.

~*~

The panic racing through Stiles only worsened when Derek closed his eyes and went limp on the mattress. "What's going on?" he shouted, locking eyes with Deaton, who looked far more grim than he had any right to. "What's wrong with them?"

"I don't know."

"Melissa," Stiles called. He gestured helplessly at the monitor Derek was connected to. "Is he…?"

She glanced at it, then back to Sarah's. "Their heart beats are synchronized. Hers is normal for her age, which makes his a bit fast. It's not anything to worry about physically, but…" Melissa turned her hands up, brows drawn together as she faced Stiles again. "I don't know."

Stiles looked over to where Dr Meiers had foregone all professionalism and was leaning over Sarah's bed, cupping the little girl's cheeks as tears ran down her face to drip onto her daughter's. Isaac continued to pull the pain from her, and his face was taking on a sickly grey cast.

Scott didn't look much better.

"Cora," Stiles murmured, drawing her attention. She looked up, her eyes shadowed with worry and fear. "Maybe… can you help Scott?"

"Three minutes," Deaton called out.

"Not me," Scott argued, breathing heavily. "Help Isaac. I've got Derek."

"Uh. Shit," Stiles whispered, as he began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. Laying back against his pillow, he blinked up at the grey-dotted ceiling. "Dad?" he called weakly.

"Hey, kiddo," his dad said seconds later, leaning over his bed. "What's wrong?"

"I just… I don't feel so good? How long was this transfusion supposed to last?" he asked, lifting his arm to watch the blood drain down his tube.

"No idea. Hey! Hello? Is anyone keeping track of how much blood Stiles has pumped into Derek?" John asked the room at large.

Melissa rushed over, eyes widening slightly as she looked at some readout or another. "It's just a bit over a pint. About what you'd donate at a Red Cross drive."

"Yeah," Stiles said, wincing as she tugged the needle out of his arm, covering the insertion point with a cotton ball. "But they always have juice and cookies."

"Well, next time we'll have them available," Melissa said, her lips turning up even as she darted a worried look over at Derek and Scott.

"I'm good. I'll just lay here. Go help them." Stiles made a shooing gesture at her, laying back against his pillow as he rolled his head to the side and watched as Deaton began walking back and forth from Sarah to Derek, parting their eyelids.

"Pupillary response is good," Deaton called out. "Our time is up, but…"

"But what?"

"I can't decide if we should leave them bound together for another twenty three minutes. Your blood is, in theory, still interacting with Derek's. It seems pointless to have come this far only to preemptively end the procedure."

Stiles made a low, growling noise, even as his dad turned to Deaton and said, "Unplug them. At this point, you're going to lose not only Sarah and Derek, but Scott, Cora, and Isaac as well."

Deaton looked at Scott, frowning, then turned back to Dr Meiers. "He's right, Donna."

Dr Meiers looked up, her expression pleading, but even she couldn't argue in the face of the pack's fatigue. They slowly unhooked the IV lines running from Derek to Sarah, then…

Then it was a waiting game.

~*~

"So what are we going to do about them?" Stiles asked, subtly pointing to Dr Meiers and Marin Morrell from his bed, still feeling woozy and nonfunctional.

His dad sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "Honestly? There's not much we _can_ do besides file a complaint with Dr Meiers' Alpha. I had to drop the charges to release them to do this, so…"

"So we get Scott to do the puppy eye thing, huh?"

Scott looked over, lower lip protruding, and Stiles cracked up. "You okay with that?" he asked, knowing Scott would hear him.

"No one messes with my pack," Scott answered, loud enough for everyone to hear him. 

Dr Meiers stiffened at the threat, but nodded once. Marin Morrell just smiled.

~*~

Stiles sat at Derek's bedside, sipping at the orange juice his dad had ducked out to buy him. Derek and Sarah had been unconscious for the better part of an hour already, with neither showing any signs of waking up.

The clock ticked along, marking off the minutes and hours.

Stiles smoothed his thumb over the skin at the bend of Derek's elbow, where the needle for the IV had been inserted. Biting his lip, he looked around furtively, then slowly peeled back the sticky edge of the band-aid. A droplet of blood had crusted into a scab, but when Stiles brushed it away with his thumb, the skin underneath was smooth and whole.

Perfect.

~*~

Derek felt his entire body struggling to wake, and he began to panic as a dizzying array of sensations rushed in at him. It was as if he'd been living in a dark, soundless room for months only to wake in the bright, loud glare of a rock concert.

Sounds and smells overwhelmed him, but as soon as a cool hand dropped to his forearm, he stilled, then forced his eyelids open to see Stiles standing over his bed smiling down at him. 

"Hey there, sleeping beauty," Stiles murmured, and Derek relaxed as the scent of Stiles' happiness flooded through him. "How are you feeling?"

Derek smiled, letting his eyes fall closed again as he concentrated on the sound of Stiles' heartbeat. Like a bear stretching itself awake after a long winter, his wolf uncurled inside him. When he opened his eyes, he knew Stiles would see them glowing blue.

"How do you think?"

Stiles' smile stretched into a grin and he leaned down, then hesitated, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Derek growled and reached up, pulling him down into a kiss.

"Yeah," Isaac said, his loud voice making Derek wince and pull back. His senses were still trying to equalize after weeks of being dulled; loud noises and bright lights were going to be a bitch to deal with for a while. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking. So's Scott. And Cora. We're great. But don't mind us; go back to what you were doing."

Derek flushed guiltily and sat up, looking across the room at where Sarah was still sleeping, her little body curled up under the blankets, though he thought her color looked a bit better than it had that morning. He blinked at that thought and looked around, taking in the vibrant color of Scott's shirt and the lines that continued to blink across the monitors. A small smile tugged at his mouth, satisfaction filling him.

"How's Sarah?" he asked then, looking around for Deaton and Dr Meiers, whom he found across the room, hovering over a set of microscopes.

"They're still running tests," Stiles said, his happiness fading into something a little flatter. Worry, maybe.

Derek pushed himself out of the bed and walked over to where Deaton and Dr Meiers were seated. "How is she?" he asked.

"She's…" Dr Meiers blew out a shaky breath and sat back, absently rubbing at her lower back. "It's really too soon to tell for sure, but for now…"

Deaton looked up with a small smile. "Her abnormal cells are still being overtaken by healthy cells. If this continues, she'll make a full recovery. If not, it will at least give her a better chance at remission after a few rounds of chemotherapy."

"The odds of this working were… astronomically low." Dr Meiers blinked across the room at her daughter, looking shell-shocked. "Just the possibility of the three of you having the compatibility to do the transfusion alone was… what? Five percent? Less?"

"Mmm, yes. Throw in the magic and it's almost. Well." Deaton smiled and rubbing a finger across his lips. "It's almost like one of those fantasy novels on the internet. Where the science is all muddled and no one did their research but somehow everything just works out."

"So what you're saying," Stiles said, stepping up beside Derek and sliding their hands together, "is that the odds were about the same as you reading sloppy fanfiction."

"Hmm." Derek hid a grin against Stiles' shoulder. "Let's just revel in the uniqueness of everything actually working out for once."

"It's not perfect," Stiles murmured, turning his head and laughing brightly when Derek allowed his eyes to flare. "But I'll take it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, throughout the next week, I'll be adding some little things to this, but as a series. There's an alternate ending (which is hilarious because I didn't edit it to reflect the direction the story went, so... yeah. You'll see?), and some deleted scenes as well as some headcanony bits that just didn't find a place in the story itself.
> 
> Also! I'm [Eeyore9990 on tumblr](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> Please note, before you kill me, that there is no Major Character Death tag on this.


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